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REYNOLDS HISTORICAL
GENEALOGY COLLECTION"

Ninety Years at the
Isles of Shoals

OSCAR LAIGHTON

ANDOVER, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A., ujj<j

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Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2019

https://archive.org/details/ninetyyearsatislOOIaig

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The Andover Press
Andover, Mass.

PREFACE

Being the only one left of the Laighton family at the
Isles of Shoals, I have been urged by the many visitors
here every summer to write what I can remember of my
life, covering ninety years on these Islands.

There is undoubtedly good material for a story in
the rather unusual history of our family on these wave-
swept Isles. Unfortunately, the events are dimmed by
the mists of years and still further blurred by my un¬
steady hand, and I fear the reading will not be as
interesting as the events warrant.

The only merit to my modest yarn is that it is a true
story. Possibly this may make it of some interest to
lovers of these beautiful Islands.

With this thought, I have ventured to write this
memoir, clinging to the hope that those who may have
the courage to read it will find it in their hearts to
forgive.

Oscar Laighton

C)iM(»53

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NINETY YEARS AT THE ISLES

OF SHOALS

My father, Hon. Thomas B. Laighton, was bom at
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1804. At school he
astonished his teachers, before he was twenty, with his
profound grasp of mathematics, and later developed the
rare gift of speaking in public without notes, winning
the admiration of both political parties of the time. He
was a leading merchant in Portsmouth, importing West
India goods arid dealing extensively in lumber.

While holding positions of trust in the Post Office and
Custom House, Editor of the New Hampshire Gazette ,
and a Member of the Legislature, he ran for Governor
of the State. By some methods, which he always con¬
sidered unfair, he was defeated, and immediately sold
out his business in Portsmouth, secured the position of
Light Keeper at the Isles of Shoals, and put ten miles of
ocean between him and the political field, regretting
that the Islands were not farther off the coast!

In later years, I often talked with people in Ports¬
mouth who remembered father and expressed their
appreciation of his attainments. An old political friend,
Col. John Elwin, mentioned the power and eloquence
of his address. This remarkable gift was inherited, in a
measure, by my brother and sister. I only wish the
mantle had fallen on me, that I might make this sketch
better worth the reading. Yet, however badly told, it is
a true story.

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White Island, Looking Southwest from Appledore

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

WHITE ISLAND LIGHT

On a pleasant day early in October of the year 1839
a pilot boat sailed out from Portsmouth, New Hamp¬
shire, bound for the Isles of Shoals. Captain Tuckerman
was in command, with Enoch Gray as deck hand. On
board were my father, mother and sister Celia (at that
time four years of age) and an old fellow named Ben
Whaling, who had been in father’s employ for many
years. I was there, too, but, being only a three months’
old baby, did not amount to much then, or, I fear,
since. Mother said, however, as she held me in her arms
and a dash of spray came over the bow into my face,
that I waved my hands and smiled with delight at that
first kiss of the salt water I was to be so familiar with in
the coming years.

Father knew the islands well, and was moving his
family out to White Island, where he had been ap¬
pointed Keeper of the Isles of Shoals Light. At this time
he was in possession of Appledore (the largest of the
group) and Smuttynose Island, where he was carrying
on extensive fishing business and had a small tavern.

It is always rough off Portsmouth Lights with a
strong ebb tide when the wind is blowing in the mouth
of the river. My dear mother had never been outside
the harbor before and the adventure must have seemed
strange and rather fearful, with the boat laying down in
the fresh southwest breeze that sent the spray flying
over the weather rail. I have often thought of my
blessed mother leaving the safety of the mainland for

NINETY YEARS

the dangers of the far-spread Atlantic and making her
home on wave-swept islands, yet I know she forgot all
fear in her beautiful devotion to father and her children.

Although we were, in a way, marooned on White
Island, not hearing from the Continent sometimes for
weeks, my mother became fond of our storm-swept bit
of rock in mid-ocean, not much larger than a good-
sized ship. She told me later that the second winter on
the Island, in a fearful gale of wind from the northeast,
the boat houses were washed off with all father’s boats,
and the long walk leading up to the light was carried
away, and nothing was left but the dwelling (which was
built of stone) and the light tower. Father had a flock of
hens, and they were lost with the boats. This was the
storm when the ship Pocahontas was lost with all hands.
My sister tells about this in her poem, “The Wreck of the
Pocahontas”. She heard, with mother, the signal guns
from the doomed ship, as she went past our light. It was
several days before the sea went down so that some of
father’s men on Smuttynose Island could reach us.

THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS

I lit the lamps in the lighthouse tower,

For the sun dropped down and the day was dead.

They shone like a glorious clustered flower, —

Ten golden and five red.

Looking across, where the line of coast

Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea,

'Fhe lights sprang out at its edge, — almost
They seemed to answer me!

O, warning lights! burn bright and clear,

Hither the storm comes! Leagues away

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

It moans and thunders low and drear, —
Burn till the break of day!

Good-night! I called to the gulls that sailed
Slow past me through the evening sky;

And my comrades, answering shrilly, hailed
Me back with boding cry.

A mournful breeze began to blow;

Weird music it drew through the iron bars;

The sullen billows boiled below,

And dimly ’peared the stars.

The sails that flecked the ocean floor
From east to west leaned low and lied;

They knew what came in the distant roar
That filled the air with dread!

Flung by a fitful gust, there beat
Against the window a dash of rain;

Steady as tramp of marching feet
Strode on the hurricane.

It smote the waves for a moment still,

Level and deadly white for fear;

The bare rock shuddered, — an awful thrill
Shook even my tower of cheer.

Like all the demons loosed at last,

Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide,

The mad wind raged, while strong and fast
Rolled in the rising tide.

And soon in ponderous showers, the spray,
Struck from the granite, reared and sprung

And clutched at tower and cottage gray,
Where overwhelmed they clung

Half drowning to the naked rock;

But still burned on the faithful light,

Nor faltered at the tempest’s shock,

Through all the fearful night.

NINETY TEARS

Was it in vain? That knew not we.

We seemed, in that confusion vast

Of rushing wind and roaring sea,

Oxie point whereon was cast

The whole Atlantic’s weight of brine.

Heaven help the ship should drift our way

No matter how the light might shine
Far on into the day.

When morning dawned, above the din
Of gale and breaker boomed a gun!

Another! We who sat within
Answered with cries each one.

Into each other’s eyes with fear
We looked through helpless tears, as still,

One after one, near and more near,

The signals pealed, until

The thick storm seemed to break apart
To show us, staggering to her grave,

The fated brig. We had no heart
To look, for naught could save.

One glimpse of black hull heaving slow,

Then closed the mists o’er canvas torn

And tangled ropes swept to and fro
From masts that raked forlorn.

Weeks after, yet ringed round with spray
Our island lay, and none might land;

Though blue the waters of the bay
Stretched calm on either hand.

And when at last from the distant shore
A little boat stole out, to reach

Our loneliness, and bring once more
Fresh human thought and speech,

We told our tale, and the boatman cried:

“ ’Twas the Pocahontas, — all were lost!

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

For miles along the coast the tide
Her shattered timbers tossed.”

Then I looked the whole horizon round,—

So beautiful the ocean spread

About us, o’er those sailors drowned!

“Father in heaven”, I said, —

A child’s grief struggling in my breast, —

“Do purposeless thy children meet

Such bitter death? How was it best
These hearts should cease to beat?

“Oh, wherefore? Are we naught to Thee?

Like senseless weeds that rise and fall

Upon thine awful sea, are we
No more then, after all?”

And I shut the beauty from my sight,

For I thought of the dead that lay below;

From the bright air faded the warmth and light,

There came a chill like snow.

Then 1 heard the far-off rote resound,

\V1 lere the breakers slow and slumberous rolled,

And a subtile sense of thought profound
Touched me with power untold.

And like a voice eternal spake

That wondrous rhythm, and “Peace, be still”.

It murmured, “Bow thy head and take
Life’s rapture and life’s ill

“And wait. At last all shall be clear.”

The long, low, mellow music rose

And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear
With infinite repose.

Sighing I climbed the lighthouse stair.

Half forgetting my grief and pain;

And while the day died, sweet and fair,

1 lit the lamps again. Celia Tiiaxter

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NINETY TEARS

Many people have said, “You must have been very
lonely at the Light.” They did not know that where our
mother dwelt there was happiness also. I am sure no
family was ever more united and contented than the
Laightons on White Island. My brother Cedric was
born when 1 was two years old.

About this time father was visited by a young man
named Richard H. Dana, who later became a dis¬
tinguished author. In one of his stories of the sea he
mentions a brother of my father. He wrote, “No
danger on the ship with Mark Laighton at the wheel.”
That was the last word that ever reached us about
Uncle Mark.

I remember, when I was a little chap, Capt. Tucker-
man came out, bringing in his pilot boat Judge Charles
Levi Woodbury, with several members of the United
States Exploring Expedition who had just returned
from their voyage around the world. The judge and
father were about the same age and old political
friends. I remember how handsome the judge looked,
magnificently dressed, with a tall silk hat! Mother had a
nice dinner for them in our big kitchen. The judge told
me years afterwards, when I was dining with him at the
Parker House, in Boston, that he never enjoyed any¬
thing more than mother’s dinner in the kitchen at
White Island. Just as the party was leaving that day,
Judge Woodbury said to me: “Little boy, what would
you like to have best of anything in all the world?” I
said at once, “A spy glass!” Think of my excitement
when the mail reached us again and there was a package
for me with the promised glass.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Among the many visitors who found their way to our
lighthouse was a young athlete of unusual attractions,
named Levi Lincoln Thaxter, a tall handsome fellow
with a full beard. He was forced to stay with us for
several days before he could get ashore. Capt. Tucker-
man brought him over and was to call for him on his
return. The pilots would sail back and forth in Ipswich
Bay waiting for vessels bound to Portsmouth, but the

White Island Light

wind hauled northeast, half a gale, so Gapt. Tuckerman
could not make our landing. With my spy glass I could
make out his boat, with two reefs in the mainsail and
bonnet out of the jib, scudding back to Portsmouth in a
smother of spray. The pilot boats were able craft, and
no better seaman than Capt. Tuckerman ever ploughed
the waters of Ipswich Bay.

Father had secured another flock of hens and im¬
ported a cow. No grass was growing on White Island,

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NINETY TEARS

but there was quite a lot of vegetation on Seavey’s
Island that joins White Island at low water, though
separated when the tide is full. Our cow soon learned to
ford across to Seavey’s Island, and sometimes, if no sea
was running, she would swim over. Ben had the care of
her, and immediately named her Betsy.

Oh, with what delight we welcomed the first song
sparrow in the spring; while we mourned over the dead
birds found under the light tower, killed in the night by
striking the plate glass windows of the lantern in their
migration! One morning we found forty-seven birds,
among them a couple of red birds, possibly cardinals.
About the hrst of April the white breasted swallow
would appear and build their nests in father’s martin
boxes; then, later, the sandpipers and barn swallows
would come.

Mother and sister were very fond of flowers and they
had a tiny garden between the ledges. The summer days
were beautiful, with the ocean quiet and sparkling in
the sunlight, every day full of joy.

We watched the many vessels that passed our light¬
house. They were mostly topsail schooners and square
riggers, with a never ending stream of lumber laden
vessels from Maine bound south. The building of the
railroad had not yet quite annihilated the commerce of
New Hampshire’s seaport. Vessels loaded with molasses
and West Indian goods would often pass our Light,
bound for Portsmouth, which at that time was next to
Salem in commercial importance. Four ship yards were
building the finest ships that ever sailed the sea, or
caught the opalescent splendor of the dawn on their

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

white topsails! Three pilot boats were busy with
shipping bound in and out of Portsmouth Harbor.
Father arranged with the pilots to bring his mail, so we
were hearing every week or ten days from the main¬
land, but in winter we felt fortunate to get word once a
month. White Island was ever the roughest of the group.
All that saves the dwelling in a storm is the high head
to the east, rising some fifty feet above the sea. Seldom
is the water still at the foot of the landing. It is com¬
paratively easy to launch a boat, as it runs down the
ways by its own gravity and shoots clear of the breakers,
but in landing there is often danger, especially at night.

WATCHING

In childhood’s season fair,

On many a balmy, moonless summer night,

While wheeled the lighthouse arms of dark and bright
Far through the humid air;

How patient have I been,

Sitting alone, a happy little maid,

Waiting to see, careless and unafraid,

My father’s boat come in;

Close to the water’s edge
Holding a tiny spark, that he might steer
(So dangerous the landing, far and near)

Safe past the ragged ledge.

I had no fears, — not one;

The wild, wide waste of water leagues around
Washed ceaselessly; there was no human sound,

And I was all alone.

But Nature was so kind!

Like a dear friend 1 loved the loneliness;

My heart rose glad, as at some sweet caress,

When passed the wandering wind.

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NINETY TEARS

Yet it was joy to hear.

From out the darkness, sounds grow clear at last,

Of rattling rowlock, and of creaking mast,

And voices drawing near!

“Is’t thou, dear father? Say!”

That well-known shout resounded in reply,

As loomed the tall sail, smitten suddenly
With the great lighthouse ray!

I will be patient now,

Dear Heavenly Father, waiting here for Thee:

1 know the darkness holds Thee. Shall I be
Afraid, when it is Thou?

On Thy eternal shore,

In pauses, when life’s tide is at its prime,

I hear the everlasting rote of Time
Beating for evermore.

Shall I not then rejoice?

Oh, never lost or sad should child of Thine
Sit waiting, fearing lest there come no sign,

No whisper of Thy voice!

Celia Thaxter

One time the pilot boat luffed up in front, and Ben
launched the dory to go out for the mail. There was
quite a sea running at the landing and Ben, on his
return, missing the middle of the slip, was swept across
the western stringer and upset. Father ran down and
managed to get Ben out of the water and save the dory,
but the mail and a bundle for Ben were wet, though no
harm was done. The package for Ben contained new
overalls, which he had sent for. There was another
package, but poor Ben could not find that, and we saw
him for weeks after hunting for that package at low tide
at the foot of the landing, and later discovered that it

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

was a bottle of something that old Enoch Gray had
secured for him in Portsmouth.

About that time mother engaged a young woman
from Star Island, named Nancy Newton, to help her
with the ever-increasing work. With the coming of
Nancy a change was noticed in Ben Whaling, and the
wood-box was kept well filled, as well as a good fire in
the stove and the kettle boiling when Nancy came down
in the morning. Had Ben fallen in love with Nancy?
This seemed assured, when he was wearing his new
overalls every day; but Nancy was not responsive, her
smile being as vague and elusive as the Mona Lisa’s.

Our Light had to be watched all night, Ben and
father taking turns of four hours each. The lantern was
kept revolving by a weight running down a pocket in
the tower. 'Phis had to be kept wound up. The flashes
red and white were timed exactly so that vessels making
the Light at night would know their position. White
Island Light is 420 58" North, 70° 37" West.

Lather’s tenants on Smuttynose, or Llaley’s Island,
as it was often called, were old Gapt. Becker with his
wife and six children. His sons, Fabius, Henry and
Charles were fine young men and a great help to my
father. I remember Gapt. Becker telling us that he had
fought in the Battle of Waterloo.

Applcdore Island was in charge of Uncle William
Rymes, mother’s brother, and father of Christopher,
who built the windmill of which more anon. Two
dwellings, a large barn, several sheds, and fish houses
had been erected on Appledore after father bought it.
Ten men were busy with the fishing, dried fish, with

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NINETY YEARS

hundreds of barrels of mackerel being sent to Boston.
Money transactions were in English coinage, — pounds,
shillings and pence. I remember Ben saying his new
overalls cost seven shillings and nine pence. There were
eighty sheep, three cows and many hens on Appledore.

The names of the several families on Star Island were
Berry, Caswell, Randall, Downs, Newton, Haley and
Robinson,-— all fishermen. The minister’s name was
Plummer, a most worthy man. His salary was paid in
dried fish. Services were held in the Stone Church every
Sabbath. There was a story that if a school of mackerel
came into the cove at meeting time, the congregation
would rush out of the meeting house for their boats,
with Elder Plummer not far in the rear.

The Islanders were good folks. I remember how fond
they were of my dear mother, bringing over fresh fish
and lobsters, with often a brace of wild ducks, which
were abundant in those days. In the fall, great fields of
eider ducks would lie off the ledges southwest of White
Island, feeding on duck mussels. It was no wonder
everyone on the islands loved mother, for she was ever
ready to help them in sickness or trouble.

Once a year mother would go to Portsmouth in one
of the pilot boats to purchase cloth, for she made all our
garments. Sometimes sister would go with her, and on
her return astonished us with fairy tales of trees higher
than our lighthouse, horses that pulled carts and were
steered with tackle rove through their mouths, endless
rows of houses, stores with great jars of candy, locomo¬
tives that screamed and people rushing in every direction.
My brother and I would feel some doubt about all this.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

We were growing fast. Father was teaching Celia, and
on winter evenings he would read aloud to us all. I can
recall, after all these years, the picture of our cosy
kitchen with all the family gathered around the fire,
Ben as near Nancy as was prudent, while father read
the story of Little Nell, — while outside the sea was
thundering against White Island Head with a force
that rattled the dishes in the closet.

We were delighted one day in October when our
splendid friend, Levi Lincoln Thaxter, came again to
White Island. He was just out of college, where he had
studied law. His classmates were William Morris Hunt
and James Russell Lowell. Thaxter was a man of cul¬
ture and high attainments, with a rare charm of man¬
ner. We were all fond of him, and father urged him to
stay with us through the winter, which he consented to
do. This was an event of far-reaching importance to my
sister, brother and myself, for Mr. Thaxter became
interested in our education. 1 can appreciate at this late
day our great good fortune in having such a teacher.
Mother arranged a pleasant chamber for our school¬
room. Sister was taught to write straight across the
letter sheet without lines. This seemed impossible to me,
yet she soon learned this lesson. Only quill pens were
used at that time. My brother Cedric was just learning
his letters, and I had begun to read a little. Mother was
delighted that her children were having the benefit of
this heaven-sent school.

I wish I could convey to you how beautiful our
mother was. In all the world there could be no one so
sweet. She was very fair, with a presence of wonderful

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NINETY TEARS

enchantment. Her great charm was her interest in and
instant sympathy with all to whom she talked. To know
her for even five minutes made even a stranger her
friend. Father’s and mother’s love and respect for each
other would be a supreme lesson for some families of
today.

Our Light was constantly revolving, showing red and
white flashes. Sister was beginning to be of some help to
father in the care of the lantern, keeping the plate glass
windows shining and reflectors polished. Often when
the tide was low, sister would take us across to Seavey’s
Island, where in summer we found a few wild flowers.
On this island many sandpipers had their nests, but
not for worlds would we disturb them. Sister told us the
mother sandpiper could talk to her babies, and it really
seemed so, as, if we came on her family suddenly, she
would call to them and they would instantly drop,
keeping perfectly still. Their call to each other, just at
dusk, “Sweet, sweet!” is exquisite.

THE SANDPIPER

Across the narrow beach we hit,

One little sandpiper and I,

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it,

The wild wind raves; the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we hit, —

One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky;

Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,

As fast we flit along the beach, —

One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry.

He starts not at my fitful song,

Or flash of fluttering drapery.

He has no thought of any wrong;

He scans me with a fearless eye.

Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,

The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be tonight

When the loosed storm breaks furiously?

My driftwood fire will burn so bright!

To what warm shelter canst thou fly?

I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky:

For are we not God’s children both,

Thou, little sandpiper and I?

Celia Thaxter

The first lighthouse was erected on White Island in
ihdo, the lantern being ninety feet above the tide. This
tower was of stone. A new tower was built 45 years later.
The dwelling was of stone, the walls two feet thick. On
the West the kitchen extended the whole width of the
house, — a fine big room with deep windows, in which
mother had blooming plants every winter. There were
a wide fireplace and brick oven. About this time the
first all iron cooking stoves were being made, and
father secured one, as it was difficult to get wood
enough for the fireplace. Friction matches could not
have been in the market long then, for I well remember
the flint, steel and tinder box on the kitchen mantel.

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White Island in the Early Day

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

There was a good cellar, in which was the cistern
that supplied us with water caught from the roof.
Great care was needed in a storm to prevent the
water from running off into the cistern, because of the
salt spray.

A cousin of ours, named Christopher Rymes, came
often to visit us. He was a fine young chap, about
sixteen years of age, and remarkable for his knowledge
of machinery. All day Chris would work at father’s
bench in the woodhouse. He made a very good wheel¬
barrow and a four-wheel cart out of some wreckage
that came ashore. The best thing that he turned out
was a windmill, arranged to churn butter. As I re¬
member it, the wheel was about four feet in diameter,
and though it ran fast, the dasher of the churn went up
and down slowly, and it actually made the butter! All
went well with this contrivance until one day, when the
mill was churning with a brisk breeze from the south¬
west, the cow, attracted by the noise, came on deck to
investigate. No one will ever know what thoughts
rushed through her mind. She evidently considered the
mill was something to be dealt with promptly, for she
suddenly lowered her head and charged, smashing the
fans, knocking over the churn and wrecking the whole
outfit. This was a never-to-be-forgotten adventure.

The Lighthouse Inspector came several times a year
bringing oil and the requirements for the light, also
wood and coal and a barrel of pork. The Government
furnished father with a dory and sailboat, which were
kept in the boathouse. The sailboat was about 18 feet
long, very wide and seaworthy, the mast of which could

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NINETY TEARS

be taken down. There was a long slip from low-water
mark, leading up into the boathouse, on which the boat
was hauled up with a windlass. Father would launch
the boat on pleasant days and visit his fishermen at
Smuttynose and Appledore Islands, and sometimes he
would take us with him. I remember our astonishment
on seeing a sumach tree about ten feet high on Apple¬
dore Island, while on White Island there was not even a
bayberry bush. One time we sailed way to Duck Island,
where we saw thousands of gulls.

The Isles of Shoals extend northeast and southwest a
distance of four miles. They are nine in number: Duck,
Appledore, Malaga, Smuttynose and Cedar in the
State of Maine, while Star, White, Seavey’s and Lon¬
doners belong to New Hampshire, the State Line
running through the Shoals Harbor out over the
breakwater between Star and Cedar Islands. The only
islands occupied at this time were Appledore, Smutty¬
nose, White and Star, which last held the little village of
Gosport, safe above the tide, with a hundred and fifty
inhabitants, all fishermen, and their families. The ocean
was teaming with fish, cod, haddock, hake, herring and
mackerel almost at their very doors.

Father purchased Appledore, Smuttynose, Malaga
and Cedar Islands of Capt. Sam Haley in 1834. At that
time there was not a house on Appledore, but on
Smuttynose were two dwellings and a tavern, with
several fish houses. Captain Sam lived on this island,
and his house is still standing, one of the oldest in New
England. He told father that in turning over a flat stone
to repair a wall, he found under it several solid bars of

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

silver from which he realized three thousand dollars.
With this money, in 1820, he built the seawall and stone
wharf that make the safe little harbor at Smuttynose.
Captain Sam died about the year I was born. The
Haley family had occupied this island before the
Revolution, and their many graves in the Haley field
can yet be traced.

We had been at White Island seven years, during
which time father had never returned to Portsmouth.
T here came a day when he found a letter in his mail
which seemed to make it imperative that he should do
so. I think his brother Joseph was in some difficulty and
had sent for him. Father reluctantly launched his boat
and set sail for the mainland. I remember about this,
for he was to bring me a pair of new shoes. We were
all watching father and saw him suddenly tack ship
when a couple of miles oft", and head home again.
Mother was worried as we all ran to the landing to
meet him. Father calmly told us lie thought of a way to
arrange matters for Uncle Joe, and had determined not
to break his vow of never returning to the continent.

I remember a distinguished gentleman who sailed
across from Newburyport one day to visit father. His
name was Caleb Cushing, a most attractive and de¬
lightful man. So many people came to the islands,
father thought a summer hotel might be successful at
Appledore, and in 1847 he decided to give up the
Light and move to Appledore. In the spring of that
year he ordered lumber and building materials from
Bangor, Maine, which was shipped directly to Applc-
dore by vessels; workmen were secured in Portsmouth,

NINETY YEARS

and by the first of August the frame of the first Apple-
dore House was up, and the building was rushed in
order that the hotel might be opened the next summer.
In September, 1847, we moved over to Appledore; a
new keeper taking charge of the Light. This was a
thrilling adventure. Celia was twelve, Cedric six, and I
eight years of age then.

APPLEDORE

Appledore is an island of nearly three hundred
acres, clothed with bay and huckleberry bushes, wild
roses, and endless vegetation. After White Island, of
hardly two acres of bare rock, our new home seemed
illimitable and we were cautious, at first, fearing we
might become lost in the valleys of this boundless
continent!

Lather had built two good sized dwellings. In one of
them Uncle William Rymes was taking care of the
workmen; the other we occupied. The first night we
children slept in the southeast chamber, with beds
made up on the floor, and the next morning we were up
betimes, eager to investigate this new field of delightful
adventure. We saw from our window a flock of sheep
feeding on the side of the south hill, and gulls flying by,
pink with sunrise. Mother and Nancy had a struggle to
get the breakfast, for everything was in confusion. Yet I
remember to this day, over eighty years, how good the
oatmeal tasted. Sister had to stay in that morning to
help mother get things in place. Cedric and I went out
with father to look over the new building, where men

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

were at work on the roof and outside finish. Mr.
Remick, the head man, told father that he felt sure of
having the plaster on before cold weather, which made
it certain that the hotel would be ready for the next
summer. The building was one hundred and twenty-
five feet long and four stories high. Father and Mr.
Remick entered the house, leaving Cedric and myself
outside. We saw a row-boat afloat in a sheltered cove,
close in front of the building, and immediately rushed
down, cast off the painter, boarded her and stood out
to sea! Here was the adventure of our lives! There were
oars in our boat, and seated together on the middle
seat, each with a paddle, we churned up the water of
our little bay. At first the boat went round and round,
but we soon could navigate in a straight course. We
were heading northwest by north half north, the course
to Portsmouth, when we saw father on the beach
watching. He soon beckoned for us to come back, and
though we naturally expected to “catch sixty”, we
rowed home in good shape. I jumped out and made the
painter fast with a clove hitch, as Ben had taught me at
White Island. I saw father smile. I had always con¬
sidered my father as being out of the ordinary in good
common sense. Certainly that day proved it. All he
said was: “Young gentlemen, I fear you have wet your
feet. Run up and have mother put on dry stockings.”

Sister had learned to swim at White Island, and it was
decided that she must teach us, for mother felt it would
not be safe to let us do much boating alone until we
could swim; so that afternoon we took our first lesson
in the bathing pond at Appledore. Before cold weather

■

NINETY TEARS

set in my brother and I were swimming, Cedric leading
me in the race, as he always did in everything. My! He
was growing up a fine little fellow, already as tall as I.
Father gave us the little row boat, and we were per¬
mitted to row about the cove. Our boat was a punt,
square at both ends, quite wide, with a seat to row,
amidships, and another scross the stern. Mr. Remick
made us a good wooden bailer, so we could keep her
dry.

It has been said of Emerson that he was a hundred
years in advance of his time. This might have been said
of father in his knowledge of astronomy, and he early
taught us the names of the brightest stars and their
places in the constellations. The magnificent white
star Capella rises every fall over Duck Island. I would
find it by following a line through the two upper stars
in the bowl of the Big Dipper, to the northeast, and
Arcturus, by the sweep in the handle of the Dipper.
Father had a first rate telescope, showing four of the
moons of Jupiter and Saturn’s Rings. In the splendid
winter constellations we saw the Pleiades and the great
Nebula in Orion. Father told us of the earth’s speed in
its orbit around the sun, over eighteen miles every
second!

By the middle of October the new Appledore House
was about completed outside. The chimneys were built
and plastering done. Inside, workmen were laying the
floors, hanging doors and putting up finish. There were
eighty sleeping chambers on the three upper floors, with
spacious public rooms below, making it the most
important summer hotel we could hear of for a distance

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

of one hundred miles along the coast of the mainland.
The broad piazza, two hundred feet long, was within a
stone’s throw of the water, with a fine view looking
west. Father had a gang of men clearing away the loose
rocks in front, making a lawn from the piazza to the
water.

One day late in October Fabius Becker came over in
a hurry, to tell us that his father had fallen off' the wharf
at Smutty nose, hurting his head badly. He wanted
father to go back with him and begged mother to go
also, which she agreed to do at once. Father asked
Fabius where the injury was, and he said: “On the
starboard side of the head, a little aft.” Mother took
silk, needles and sticking plaster with her. They found
old Capt. Becker in bad shape and the fall would have
killed a man less robust. Though the skull was not
fractured, the skin was torn for three inches; so father
and mother trimmed the hair close about the wound,
carefully washing it with Castile soap, and drew the
parts together with strips of sticking plaster. The Cap¬
tain was as good as new in a month, and during this
time he kept telling father and mother that the sword he
carried at the Battle of Waterloo weighed twelve
pounds. No wonder Napoleon was defeated!

We were finding Appledore delightful as the fall
advanced. Great flocks of the now extinct wild pigeons
would visit us, and every kind of bird on their southern
flight. As late as November golden-rod was blooming
and the Quaker lady’s darling blossom still fringing the
ledges. With sister we would ramble over our island
until we were familiar with every spot of it. The North

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NINETY TEARS

Valley we called fairyland. Here, with stones and
driftwood, we built a little house, and sister would tell
us wonderful fairy stories, which a fiery-winged black¬
bird, swaying on a reed nearby, would try to verify
with all his might. Far off we heard the fascinating call
of the loon. The ocean, deep blue, was sparkling in the
radiant sunlight! Perfect stillness save the murmur of
the water about the shore, or the continued conversa¬
tion of our little friend, the red-winged blackbird!

Fabius came over early one morning for the mackerel
barrels. He said they had caught over a hundred
barrels of mackerel in their seine at one haul. Father
had only about fifty empty barrels in our fish house,
which Fabius and his two brothers boated over to
Smuttynose. Of their catch they salted down sixty
barrels, and the balance, some fifty barrels, they sold to
a Gape Cod fishing vessel lying in the harbor, at a
dollar a barrel. Father rowed us over to Smuttynose
after dinner, where Henry and Charles were splitting
the mackerel. Henry had a record of sixty a minute,
with another hand placing them on the splitting table.
If the fish were not placed just right, Henry would
growl. Fabius and old Capt. Becker were soaking and
sorting the catch. There is no fish more beautiful when
just out of the water, with its wonderful markings and
iridescent colors, than mackerel.

With father we went upon Smuttynose Island and
found the Haley graves. Capt. Haley, Sr., the father of
Sam Haley, of whom my father bought Smuttynose,
must have been a remarkable man. He had a ropewalk
for making his fish lines and cordage, and a windmill

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

for grinding grain. We found the mill stones lying near
in the held, and I think they are still there. It was this
Gapt. Sam Haley who always kept a light burning at
night in his east window. The morning after a fearful
northeast storm he found the wreck of a Spanish ship
and sixteen drowned men washed up among the rocks.
Three of the sailors must have survived the wreck, as
they were found some way from the shore, evidently
having tried to reach Gapt. Haley’s light, but perished
in the bitter cold before they could do so. We found their
graves in the held marked with rough headstones.
Sister speaks of this wreck in her poem. Out of the
wreck of this ship, Capt. Sam built the tavern at Smut-
tynose. The Ship was the Sagunto, wrecked in 1813.

THE SPANIARDS’ GRAVES

O sailors, did sweet eyes look after you

The dayr you sailed away from sunny Spain?

Bright eyes that followed fading ship and crew,

Melting in tender rain?

Did no one dream of that drear night to be,

Wild with wind, fierce with the stinging snow,

When on yon granite point that frets the sea,

The ship met her death-blow?

Pdfty long years ago these sailors died:

(None know how many sleep beneath the waves.)

Fourteen gray headstones, rising side by side,

Point out their nameless graves,—

Lonely, unknown, deserted, but for me,

And the wild birds that flit with mournful cry,

And sadder winds, and voices of the sea
That moans perpetually.

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NINETT TEARS

Wives, mothers, maidens, wistfully, in vain
Questioned the distance for the yearning sail,

That, leaning landward, should have stretched again
White arms wide on the gale.

To bring back their beloved. Year by year,

Weary they watched, till youth and beauty passed,

And lustrous eyes grew dim and age drew near,

And hope was dead at last.

Still summer broods o’er that delicious land,

Rich, fragrant, warm with skies of golden glow:

Live any yet of the forsaken band
Who loved so long ago?

O Spanish women, over the far seas,

Gould I but show you where your dead repose!

Could I send tidings on this northern breeze
That strong and steady blows!

Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remember yet

These you have lost, but you can never know

One stands at their bleak graves whose eyes are wet
With thinking of your woe.

Celia Thaxter

Father took us across the Haley breakwater to
Malaga Island. There was only the remains of a fish-
house standing, but father told us that a man named
Ambrose Gibbon had a fine house on Malaga before the
Revolution. Gibbon was a man of education and a
leader at the Isles of Shoals. If Ambrose was famous,
how much more so was his charming daughter Beckey,
the delight and wonder of the islands. In Williamson’s
History of Maine, Beckey is mentioned as being the
fairest and best beloved of all the girls on these islands.
Among Beckey’s many lovers, was a young fair-haired

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

fisherman named Jim, for whom Beckey cared die
most. They were to be married, but alas, Jim was
drowned in a gale that swamped his boat while fishing
west of White Island. Beckey mourned him for three
years, but at last married a man named Sherburne and
went to live in Portsmouth.

That winter shut in early at Appledore, but the work
on the new building was completed outside. Father and
Ben were painting the chambers. Mr. Thaxter was
with us, and in the kindness of his heart trying to teach
us again. He had a book of splendid engravings of the
works of the old Masters, and would talk to us about
the great Raphael and Angelo, and many other wonder¬
ful painters. His knowledge of the best in literature and
art made him a rare teacher. Sister was enjoying her
lessons and advancing rapidly. Mother and Nancy were
at work every spare moment making up the linen for the
hotel. We were all busy when at last the winter drifted
away and the song-sparrow was heard again, bringing
fresh hope to us all. The spring found us in a whirlwind
of preparation for the opening of the new hotel in June.
Though so much had been done during the winter,
still the work of furnishing and equipment seemed
endless. Father had bought a schooner yacht named
Springbird, to establish daily communication with the
mainland. She had a good cabin and was very fast. I
never saw her match close-hauled on the wind.

At last on the fifteenth of June, in the year 1848, the
doors of the Appledore House were open to the public.
Father had advertised in a Boston, a Newburyport, and
a Manchester paper, and we awaited the arrival of the

’

IV ^

NINETY TEARS

Springbird, Gapt. Thurlow, from Newburyport, with
strange feelings of great excitement. The immaculate
hotel register lay on the counter, with only one name,
that of the Reverend John Weiss, a friend and classmate
of Mr. Thaxter, he having arrived the day belbre in the
pilot boat Spy, Capt. Jim Goodwin. Mr. Weiss was a
medium sized man, with dark hair and beard and
splendid brown eyes, but what impressed me most
about him was his irresistible spirit of fun.

Appledore House, Built in 1848

About ten o’clock we saw the Springbird coming, all
sails set and colors flying. She was a handsome sight,
running free before the fresh southwest breeze, with a
big “bone in her mouth”. Capt. Thurlow came to
anchor close in, and Ben went out in the shad boat for
the passengers. There was a man with his wife and two
children, and a couple of gentlemen, one of them
rather stout, dressed in a light suit. I was to show the
people to their rooms, and mother had told me to be
polite and attentive and help father all I could. “So
much depends”, she said, “on first impressions.” I was

t ; '

THE ISLES OE SHOALS

inside the counter ready to run when the people came
into the office. Mr. Richard Stone, the man with wife
and children, was telling father he desired a good
double and two single rooms, with sunny exposure, one
flight up. Father called me to show Mr. Stone 56, 57
and 58. At that moment the gentleman in the light suit
came in saying: “My name is Whittle, Judge Whittle of
Manchester. Get a move on and give me a room, or I
will go over to the other island”, and he banged his hat
down on the counter. Father turned slowly around, and
said: “You can go to FF— if you like”; then turning to
Mr. Stone, said, “I feel sure you will like the rooms, Mr.
Stone; if not, you can have your choice of the whole
house.” Rev. John Weiss, who was in theoffice at the time
seemed to be acting strangely, and his friend Thaxter
was struggling to get him into the dining room, where
we heard him in convulsions of laughter. Judge Whittle
had run out on the piazza.

As I was showing Mr. Stone his rooms, a feeling of
great pride in my splendid father filled my heart, as
always calm and collected, ready for any emergency,
there could be no one in all the world like him. Mr.
Stone was delighted with his rooms, “just what he
wanted”, I told father. Mr. Weiss was getting over his
fit, as I heard him laughing with Mr. Thaxter in the
dining room. Things were calming down beautifully
after the opening cyclone.

I was curious to see if Judge Whittle had gone to the
other island, and ran out on the piazza, where 1 found
him in a rocking chair, i thought at first he was laugh¬
ing, till I noticed tears running down his cheeks. I

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NINETY TEARS

remembered what mother had told me, and tried to
comfort him, begging him not to feel badly, for mother
would give him a good dinner, and I was sure better
days would come. The Judge said, “Are you Mr.
Laighton’s boy?” “Yes”, I said. “Do you love your
father?” “You bet I do; he is the best man in the world.”
“You are right, my boy. Try and grow up like your
good father, and fear not. Now run in and ask Mr.
Laighton if I can have some dinner.” Father said
“Yes”, and told me to showr the Judge up to 52. I joy¬
fully rushed out, and taking the Judge by the hand, led
him in. As we passed through the office, father said,
“Dinner ready in ten minutes, Judge!” Judge Whittle
gave me a sixpence, and I ran back to the office. Mr.
Thaxter and Mr. Weiss were talking with the other
visitor, Rufus R. Griffith, of Newburyport. Mr. Griffith
was saying that he thought Judge Whittle must be all
right, only, fearing seasickness, he had brought a
bottle, which, he explained, contained “drops” to
neutralize the motion of the boat. Mr. Griffith came to
father and said, “Your boat, the Springbird, is a fine
sailer. She came across as though she had wings. Mr.
Weiss, whose splendid eyes were dancing with fun,
begged Mr. Griffith to tell him more about the seasick
“drops”. Did they work? “They surely did,” Mr.
Griffith replied. “The Judge commenced to take the
drops the moment we were out of the river and about
every mile of the way, until there wasn’t a drop left,
when he threw the bottle overboard.”

Nancy was looking nice in a new dress and white
apron, as she threw open the dining-room doors,

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

announcing dinner. I ran upstairs for Judge Whittle,
taking him by the hand. I led him into the hall and
whispered to Nancy to take good care of him. I was
trying my best to carry out mother’s instructions.

The wind being ahead, Gapt. ThurloW wanted to get
started back as soon as possible after dinner. Mr.
Griffith was returning with him, and he told father that
he was living in Newburyport and should run down
often during the season. The charge of fifty cents for his
dinner seemed to please him. “Why,” he said, “the
chowder alone was worth that.”

It was a beautiful sight to see the Springbird close
hauled on the wind, even with a shake in her mainsail,
going fast, outpointing every vessel in Ipswich Bay.

Late that afternoon Pilot Goodwin came out from
Portsmouth bringing three people to stay over night,
making eight guests at the Appledore the first day.
Father was greatly encouraged, as the building and
equipment of the hotel had exceeded his estimate,
calling lor all his available funds. I have always thought
it was our dear mother’s careful management and
wonderful cooking that saved the situation in those
days. Mother had a delightful way of greeting the
people, and was affectionately called “Aunt Eliza” by
everyone. Her method of cooking fish made the table at
Appledore famous. Our sister Celia, at fourteen, was a
fine looking girl and proved of great help to mother
about the housekeeping. She also grasped the im¬
portance of education, never losing a moment she could
give to study. Father was too busy to help her much,
except in the winter, but Mr. Thaxter and John Weiss

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NINETY TEARS

were greatly interested in her efforts to learn and gave
her wonderful encouragement, and with the help of
these masters of English literature she advanced rap¬
idly. These young gentlemen were very fond of my
mother, finding great delight in trying to make her
laugh. Never in all my life have I met such a concen¬
trated creation of inextinguishable fun as the Rev.
John Weiss.

Cedric and I had fine times with Lucy and Richard
Stone, as we never had had children of our own age to
play with before. They enjoyed our boat and we taught
them to swim, and our little house in fairyland was a
great attraction to them. This was equipped with some
dishes, a table, and a couple of chairs, one of which had
no back, but was a good chair in spite of that defect.

The red-winged blackbird, with a nest close by, was
singing delightfully and all was joy, when, like lightning
out of a summer cloud, mother told me that Lucy had
complained that Oscar “kept kissing her with his great
mouth”. Here was a first lesson in diplomacy. 1 would
have been wise to have studied more carefully, so much
may happen in eighty years. I met Lucy fifty years
later in Newburyport, when, in the rush of youthful
memories I hugged and kissed her. She made no effort
to check me, in fact, returned my impetuous embrace.

The Season of 1848 closed with fair success. Appledore
had made many friends who promised to return.
Lather decided that running the Springbird to New¬
buryport was unwise, the voyage was too long and the
Merrimack River uncertain and dangerous in easterly
winds. The Springbird was docked at father’s wharf in

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Portsmouth for the winter, and plans were made to run
from there the next summer. Cedric and I hauled our

boat under the hotel piazza. 1770863

Nothing of great importance happened that winter,
except that Ben took to drink. Mother found out, after
a while, that Nancy had positively refused him. We
kept hoping that he would get over it, but the poor
fellow never rallied.

Mr. Thaxter and Mr. Weiss were not with us that
winter. Father was teaching us and reading aloud every
evening from the best books he had. We were advancing
with our studies,— or at least sister and Cedric were. I
was ever behind, as this poor manuscript will show. My
great delight was in working with carpenter’s tools. I
had a bench in one of the sheds, and with father’s kit of
tools was ever at work repairing the boats or building
something. Father gave me a commission to make him a
neat box for his important papers and I managed to
turn out one that pleased him, the corners being dove¬
tailed, the cover crowned a little, and finally being
polished with fine sandpaper until it was like silk velvet.

Celia wrote,

“Lo, when the bitter winter breaks, some day,

With soft winds fluttering her garment’s hem,
Up from the sweet south comes the lingering May,
Sets the first wind-flower trembling on its stem.”

Reluctantly the winter drifted to leeward, and one
day, out of the far-off and mysterious southland, our
joyous friend, the song sparrow, came again to Apple-
dore. Oh! With what delight we welcomed its song of
divine hope and gladness! This was the call for Cedric

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NINETY TEARS

and me to get our boat into the water, for which we
were planning to have a mast and sail and no end of
rigging.

Celia was already at work in her garden, which was
to be enlarged for more Shirley poppies. Wild anemones
and dogtoothed violets were blooming in the sheltered
places, with the blue-white clusters of the precious eye-
bright, while in the high bushes on the hillside a brown
thrush was softly rehearsing the heavenly song he would
sing with all his might to his mate in the pleasant days
of May.

The north dwelling was vacant, as Uncle William
Rymes had moved to Portsmouth. Mr. Thaxter had
made arrangements to occupy this cottage and planned
to bring his father and some others of his family in June.
The Rev. John Weiss came with Mr. Thaxter early in
April, and both were busy getting the dwelling in good
condition. There was a whirlwind of rush and excite¬
ment in preparing for the second opening of the hotel;
even Ben Whaling limbered up a little. Father had sent
word to Uncle Joe Laighton to give the Springbird a
fresh coat of paint and have a new staysail made.
Everything must be ready for the ioth of June, when
the Appledore would open for the season of 1849.

Cedric and I did our best to help father, but we found
time to rig a sail on our boat. We found a spruce pole
on the beach that made a good mast, and mother made
a sail out of some unbleached sheeting. Our boat sailed
well before the wind, but we found we could not beat
to windward. Father explained the difficulty, and how
to make a leeboard. Our boat held her course close

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

hauled on the wind, making very little leeway. I cannot
remember anything in all the years that ever gave more
delight. We asked father if we might run off a little way
to the westward and try to catch some fish. Father said,
“All right, boys, only keep an eye to windward for
heavy weather.” A pretty good plan on sea or land: —
keep an eye to windward.

Mother had great fun with John Weiss, who, in his
effort to paint the North Cottage piazza, had put the
first coat mostly on himself. There was always some fun
with this delightful man.

Mr. Thaxter told mother that he would try and keep
house, as his sister Lucy was to be with him and some
friends had promised to visit him, among them Henry
D. Thoreau, and his classmate, James Russell Lowell.
The fame of these men had already reached our far-off
islands. The North Cottage was in a fine location, facing
south, and the rooms were large, with open fireplaces
and plenty of driftwood in those days, every easterly
wind bringing slabs and logs from the Maine rivers and
lumber yards.

The lovely melodious days of May were drifting
away and radiant June, in a great rush of beauty,
stormed our island. On the ioth of June I hoisted the
flag above the belfry tower of the hotel. The day was
beautiful, with a gentle breeze from the southwest, our
islands lying like precious gems on the softly breathing
bosom of the sea.

Springbird in sight! There was no reason for great
excitement, yet I wondered how father could keep so
calm after all the months of waiting. Sure enough she

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NINETY YEARS

was beautiful in her fresh paint and new staysail set.
There was no wharf at Appledore in those days; the
yacht tied up at a mooring, and we brought passengers
ashore in a large row boat. There were a number of
visitors on the boat, and Ben and I had to make three
trips to get them all ashore. Several of father’s friends
came to dinner, saying they had heard of the excellence
of the Appledore chowder. Five people had rooms, and
father had also several letters from people engaging
rooms, — one from Mr. Stone, of Newburyport, saying
he was coming with his family and desired his old
rooms. When father read the letter, I thought to myself
that wild horse mackerel could not make me kiss Lucy
again; she was not to be trusted. Yet, when the following
week Lucy arrived, and I was keeping coyly back, the
girl rushed up and put her arms around me, and all my
resolutions went by the board. I did not understand
girls then, nor have I since. It takes more than eighty
years to learn some things.

Running the Springbird to Portsmouth was proving
a wise change, doubling our transient business. Mother
found more help was needed in the dining hall, so Mary
Becker was engaged from Smuttynose and Abby Cas¬
well from Star Island, to help Nancy. On the 15th of
June, Mr. Thaxter’s father and sister came and joined
him in the North Dwelling, with his brother Jonas and
Mr. Weiss, and later J. R. Lowell arrived, and a gentle¬
man named T. W. Higginson, to join Mr. Thaxter at
the cottage, where Mr. Thaxter’s sister, Lucy, was
keeping house for him. About this time who should
drop in but old Judge Whittle, and we were glad to

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

welcome the Mayor of Manchester , as he turned out to be.
Rock cod were close in shore, so we had plenty of fresh
fish and we would give Aunt Lucy, as we affectionately
called Miss Thaxter, fresh fish and lobsters. Lobsters
were so plentiful that we could see them crawling about
near the shore. We thought it was great if we got six
cents for a three-pound lobster that would sell today for
a dollar or more. Aunt Lucy was a wonderful house¬
keeper. She made the cottage very attractive; had lace
curtains at the windows, and her dining-room was a
revelation.

To think that every one of the dear people I knew at
that time are gone forever! I cannot recall one now
living. It seems strange that I am still on deck. I hope
the Lord has not forgotten me.

Appledore House stood in the valley between the
north and south hills of the island. The valley terminates
on the east in Broad Cove, on the west in Babb’s Cove,
named for Philip Babb, who was a leading man here
before the Revolution. Babb’s house was on the south
hillside near his cove. When we first came to Appledore
there was a large excavation at the head of the cove,
where Babb had dug for treasure. There has always
been a story that Capt. Kidd buried money over these
islands, as Sam Haley’s find of the silver on Smuttynose
would seem to prove. Babb made a big effort to dig up
something. The pit lie made was thirty feet across and
ten feet deep, as I remember it. The place was filled up
level in the great storm of 1851. Father told Judge
Whittle that Babb at last discovered a big iron chest at
the bottom of the pit, and, with his friend Ambrose

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NINETY TEARS

Gibbon, tried to lift it out, but it was too heavy, and
with a hammer and a cold chisel they finally started the
cover a little, when smoke, like burning sulphur, came
from under the lid; that when they at last burst it open,
red hot horseshoes flew out. Babb and his friend es¬
caped, but the chest is still there. Just at dusk on pleas¬
ant evenings we would see Babb’s ghost standing at the
head of his cove near the pit he dug. It was very real and
no Islander would venture near after nightfall. Babb’s
ghost persisted until the Coast Guard built their boat¬
house over his treasure, when it disappeared. If there
ever comes another northeast storm like that of 1851,
this government boat-house will be washed away. I
remember that fearful gale that swept the sea all the
way across the island from Broad Gove on the east to
Babb’s Cove on the west, the waves holding their form
from Cove to Gove.

In September it is hard to tell which is the more
beautiful, dawn or sunset. From our islands both are
very beautiful, glowing across the vast expanse of water.
Eastward over Broad Cove, the sun rises in dazzling
splendor directly out of the ocean, the sea taking the
color of the sky, and the cliffs of Appledore are pink
with sunrise.

The Season of 1849 closed on the 26th of September,
when the Springbird was taken off the line and hauled
up at Portsmouth. Father seemed pleased with the
results of this year and the outlook for the future.

1 became acquainted with several nice girls of my
own age that summer, among them a girl named Clara
Bancroft. We both cried when she left. When Lucy

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NINETY YEARS

Stone left, the last of August, she said to me, “What will
you do without me?” I told her I hardly knew, but
thought I should bump my head on the floor and
scream. She started down toward the boat a little way;
then 1 saw her turn and run back. I instantly fell on the
office floor, bumping my head and screaming, “What
shall I do?” Lucy looked at me a moment, then fled in
tears. I have always thought since, that I was not quite
fair with Lucy, — but then I was only ten years of age,
and, of course did not understand girls, — nor do I now
for that matter. My brother Cedric was ever the more
sensible of us two, as is proved by the three nice daugh¬
ters he left. I wish the dear fellow were alive today to
see how splendid they are.

Celia wrote — “At daybreak, in the fresh light, joy¬
fully the fishermen drew in their laden nets; the shore
shone rosy purple, and the sea was streaked with violet.”

Sandpipers did not arrive at Applcdore in 1850 until
the month of May. Sparrows, robins, blue birds and
swallows were with us early in April and wild geese
were flying north in great flocks, sometimes circling
round Duck Island, lighting on the southwest ledges to
feed; water sparkling in the sunshine. Loons were
calling off Blue Beach Point, and all our world awoke
to greet the entrancing days of spring.

People were coming over in the pilot boats before the
hotel opened. On the 10th of June the Springbird com¬
menced her regular trips, to Portsmouth. Mr. Thaxter’s
party were again occupying the North Cottage, and Mr.
John Weiss ran to find mother the moment he arrived,
doing his best to make her laugh. In Massachusetts,

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

they called him “John Weiss, The Radical”. I did not
know what that meant, but a better fellow never lived.

Celia seemed quite grown up at fifteen. She was then
doing up her hair and wore long dresses. Cedric and
I were pretty good in the water, but sister could out-
swim us, and could sail a boat with the best of us, often
going out alone in the Lady of Shalott, beating her to
windward handsomely. Aunt Lucy had brought sister
a silver-backed comb and a pretty lace collar. I thought
to myself that no finer looking lady ever came over from
the mainland.

The first of July, Judge C. L. Woodbury came again
to visit father, and he seemed greatly pleased that I still
had the little telescope he had sent to me at White
Island. This year he brought down a lot of fireworks for
the Fourth, and he continued to do so for many sum¬
mers. Judge Woodbury came from a distinguished fam¬
ily in Portsmouth, and was a famous lawyer in Boston
for many years.

Father bought a couple of whaleboats for fishing
parties. They were rigged with two sails and were good
sea-boats. The Star Islanders used this kind of boat for
deep-sea fishing, they being excellent in rough water.
The sea at this time was full of bait fish, herring, blue-
backs and porgies by the countless thousands. That was
before the seiners were sweeping the porgies out of the
ocean for their oil. They were so plentiful at that time
we could see the dark ripples of the schools lor many
miles off shore. Fishing was a great attraction to our
guests, and parties would return loaded with cod fish,
often having forty pounders in their catch.

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NINETY YEARS

We had doubled the size of our garden and were
raising about all our vegetables. The flock of sheep had
increased, so that we had island-fed mutton on our
table, but the most delicious dishes were those made
from fish in the different ways in which mother served
them. I have never seen anything like her work, and
fear it is a lost art. Father was charging then a dollar
and a-half a day, or ten dollars by the week. The
charge for dinner was fifty cents, which seemed a fearful
price, but there was never a murmur when mother was
looking out for the table.

One day Mr. Weiss and I were in the kitchen helping
mother, when Asa Caswell, of Star Island, came in
bringing a halibut. Asa was a grouchy old fellow who
hardly ever spoke to anyone, but he liked mother.
“Do you want this halibut?” he asked. “It is a good one,
just out of the water.” Mother said, “Yes, what is the
price?” Asa said he would have to charge five cents a
pound, as halibut were scarce and high. The fish
weighed twenty-eight pounds, making price a dollar
and forty cents. Mother gave the old man a dollar and
a-half, and made him sit down and have a piece of
apple pie and a cup of coffee . Mr. Weiss tried to find
out where Mr. Caswell had caught the halibut, but he
paid no attention to him. Just as the old man was
leaving, Mr. Weiss took him by the sleeve, saying,
“Come on, Caswell, be a good fellow lor once in your
life, — you know you never were; tell me where you
caught that halibut!” Asa looked him over and said,
“Look here, young feller, when I was of your age I
kept my mouth shut. Then nobody knew I was a cussed
fool!” Asa went out of the door without a smile, but I

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

thought I saw a twinkle in his eye. Mother turned to
Mr. Weiss to make some apology for Asa, but found
him in convulsions of merriment. He kept saying,
“Beautiful, perfectly beautiful! Old Asa is superb!”
How delightful it is to meet a man who can find the
funny side of any adventure, even if it is against himself.
Look at the difference in the character of Ben Whaling.
When Nancy threw the wet dish cloth at the northwest
side of his face, he swore like a pirate. I have always felt
that the example of Mr. Weiss has been a help to me.

At last the lovely summer days were gone and we
were hauling up our boats and making things snug for
the long and stormy winter ahead. Everyone had de¬
parted excepting Mr. Thaxter, who planned to remain
with us. We were fortunate in our friend, Mr. Thaxter;
a man of education and refinement, and a most delight¬
ful companion. Finding that sister was fond of poetry,
he encouraged her to write, bringing her the best works
to study. That winter was cold and blustering, but
passed happily with us. Cedric and I were trying to
build a boat in the workshop. Our large stone kitchen
was the most comfortable room to live in and we all
would gather there in the evening, Mr. Thaxter reading
aloud, mother busy knitting our stockings, father mak¬
ing a mackerel net, Ben and Nancy as far apart as
possible, sister, brother and I very quiet, enjoying the
situation.

One day in March, 1 heard my sister saying to herself.

“Dip down again on Appledore,

O, sweet New Year, delaying long,

Thou dost expectant nature wrong,

Delaying long, delay no more.”

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NINETY TEARS

I said to Celia, “You did not write that?” “No indeed,
that is by the great Tennyson”, she said. “Is that the
feller who wrote ‘The Lady of Shalott’?” “Yes”, she
replied. “Well”, I said, “will you kindly tell me what in
thunder that lady was trying to do.” Sister looked
grieved, as she said, “Why Oscar, hush your mouth,
you don’t know what you are talking about. It is a
beautiful thing.” Now, whether sister meant the poem
was beautiful, or when in doubt it was wisest to keep
silent, I was too dull to grasp, and kept thinking old Asa
was gifted with the right idea as he showed when he
tried to convey to Mr. Weiss the importance of keeping his
mouth closed in any event. This splendid secret has been
of the greatest service to me in all these years. I have
read The Lady of Shalott carefully, and am still hushed.

In April of the year 1851, the fiercest northeast storm
in a hundred years swept the New England coast. The
sea went clear across both valleys of Appledore, making
it look like three islands. Father was worried fearing the
hotel would be swept away. Our boats under the piazza
were afloat. Seaweed and rocks were washed up to the
doors. This was the awful storm when, on the 1 7th of
April, Minot’s Ledge Light went down and the keepers
were drowned. Our Valley of Fairyland ends on the
east in Neptune’s Hall, and on the west in Sandpiper
Cove. The sea had gone through this valley, carrying
away our little house. The blackbird must have been
astonished when he returned that spring to find his
nesting place covered with seaweed. T he Star Islanders
lost three boats in this gale, and the Becker boys at
Smuttynose had a struggle to save their fishing schooner
in Smuttynose Dock, the safest harbor at the Islands.

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

From my observations, I believe that in a gale of wind
the sea keeps increasing as long as the wind blows; that
is, if the wind blew long enough in one direction, it
would swamp the world, but a gale rarely lasts more
than three days, fortunately. There was a wreck on
Smuttynose Eastern Point, but the vessel must have
been abandoned, as there was no sign of any crew. The
Becker boys got a lot of rigging and sail off the wreck
and wood enough to last for years.

“Move Eastward, ‘Appledore’, and leave
Yon orange sunset waning slow
From fringes of the faded eve,

O, happy ‘Island’, Eastward go.”

Sister was repeating Tennyson’s exquisite poem, as we
were watching the sunset together on the west piazza.
The tide was full with gentle murmuring about the
shore, though the ocean was perfectly calm, reflecting
the splendor of the glowing west. As the sun disappeared
beyond the distant coast-line of New Hampshire, sister
said: — “Good-bye, Sweet Day”. She wrote a verse on
this sunset, which I give here: —

GOOD-BYE, SWEET DAY

Good-bye, sweet day, good-bye!

I have so loved thee, but I cannot hold thee.

Departing like a dream, the shadows fold thee;

Slowly thy perfect beauty fades away:

Good-bye, sweet day!

Good-bye, sweet day, good-bye!

Dear were thy golden hours of tranquil splendor,

Sadly thou yieldest to the evening tender

Who wert so fair from thy first morning ray;

Good-bye, sweet day!

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NINETY TEARS

Good-bye, sweet day, good-bye!

Thy glow and charm, thy smiles and tones and glances,
Vanish at last, and solemn night advances;

Ah, could’st thou yet a little longer stay!

Good-bye, sweet day!

Good-bye, sweet day, good-bye!

All thy rich gifts my grateful heart remembers,

The while I watch thy sunset’s smouldering embers
Die in the west beneath the twilight gray.

Good-bye, sweet day!

Celia Thaxter

That evening sister said to me, “I am engaged to be
married to Mr. Thaxter, but father objects, thinking I
am too young. I shall be seventeen my next birthday.”
“What does mother think?” I asked. “Mother is per¬
fectly willing,” sister replied. I told her I thought she
was a lucky girl, for no better man ever came to Apple-
dore. We were all fond of him.

There was a whirlwind of business that summer.
Among our visitors was a man named Col. Bailey, with
his aged mother from Manchester. He made some fun
for us. Manchester must be the birthplace of remarkable
characters; judge Whittle was born there. One morning
Col. Bailey came out from breakfast, saying: “Darn
pretty hotel, no pie for breakfast!” I told mother, and
ever after that there was a Washington pie at his place
for breakfast. The Colonel stood it for a couple of weeks,
when, one morning he came out of the dining room
saying, “I revere the name of Washington , but damn his
pieT Mother and John Weiss screamed with delight.

When I was twelve father let me sail the whale-boat
alone. He went out with me at first, teaching me how to

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

reef and manage in rough water. He said, “You are all
right, sonny, but keep an eye to windward.” This I
have never forgotten, and it has kept me safe in many a
gale at sea, but I fear I must have lost sight of it in my
struggles on shore in later years. I enjoyed taking our
people out to sail among the islands, or out fishing. Old
Asa had whispered to me where he caught the halibut,
and I took a party out to his fishing grounds one day.
Judge Woodbury and his friend, Mr. Blair, were
aboard. We did not catch a halibut, but came home
with seven hundred pounds of cod and haddock!

This year, 1854, was chiefly remarkable for my
receiving my first letter. As father was calling the mail
in the office, I heard my name, and people were looking
at me with smiling faces. It may not seem a great event,
yet I was trembling with excitement. It was from my
girl friend, Clara Bancroft, saying that she was in
despair, as her father was ill and they could not come to
Appledore that year as they had planned. She went on
to say that the thought of not seeing me again was
heart-rending, and that she had thought of nothing else
since she left me the summer before. Is it not strange?
There are some girls who seem magnetic, sweeping you
off your feet with their friendly interest and spontaneous
affection. This dear girl never came again to Appledore,
yet 1 am always thinking of her with a great love in my
heart.

In all the world there never was such a wedding cake
as mother made for sister’s wedding. Celia was married
to Mr. Thaxter by the Rev. John Weiss in the south
parlor at Appledore, before a distinguished gathering

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NINETY TEARS

of friends and guests of the hotel. That was seventy-five
years ago, yet I remember perfectly how magnificent
the couple looked, standing up to be married before the
dignified John Weiss. At the wedding-dinner, Weiss and
Thaxter were doing their best to make mother laugh,
for she seemed near tears. These young men were as
fond of her as they would have been were she their own
mother.

When I was sixteen I had a great desire to visit the
mainland, for I had never been there since I came over,
a three-months’ old baby in my dear mother’s arms.
With my spy glass 1 could look across to the distant
coast line of Maine, New Hampshire and Massachu¬
setts; the islands, lying about ten miles off shore, were
too far to see much. I told father I would like to go to
Portsmouth, but he advised me not to think of such a
thing, saying it was a wicked world over there. Still I
could not get the adventure out of my mind, and
getting up early one morning in June, I secured a loaf of
bread from my mother’s pantry and set sail in the whale¬
boat, bound for the unknown continent of the United
States! I knew the course for Portsmouth River, “nor-
west by north half north”, and Enoch Gray had made
me a good sketch of the river. The sun was just rising in
dazzling splendor as I passed Blue Beach Point. There
was a fair wind from the southwest, and I was running
free with sheets started, the boat making a delicious
murmur from the glancing water under her lee bow.
T hat always fills my heart with joy. I held my course
until I made the red buoy off Kitts Rock; then, leaving
Whalesback Light to starboard, stood in for Fort Point

• -

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Light. This I rounded and kept to the westward by the
Newcastle shore, till I came to Pull-and-be-damned
Point (so called because it was impossible to row by it
when the tide is running strongly). Ahead was Fort
Washington, on Pierce’s Island, and the narrows, with
the city of Portsmouth coming into view. It was then
about high water in the river, and I sailed to a lumber
wharf and made my boat fast alongside a schooner tied
up there. After I had lowered my sails and made things
snug, I took a look up the wharf and saw my first horse.
The critter was fast fore and aft to a lumber wagon, and
showing all the earmarks of a Bengal tiger. I kept
aboard my boat till he was driven off and noticed that
the method of steering him was just as sister had told
me, — that is, with the wheel ropes rove through the
animal’s mouth.

When it was quiet on the wharf I ventured ashore
and cautiously walked up Daniel Street, filled with
astonishment at the stately trees high as White Island
Lighthouse, as sister had told me. On this street were
the Custom House and Post Office father had kept, and
opposite stood his house, where Celia was born. At the
end of Daniel Street I came to the big open Square
called “the Parade”, where I saw crowds of people,
horses, carriages and countless stores and dwellings. It
was all new and wonderful, but I began to feel lonesome
and started back to my boat, keeping an eye to the
windward and dodging the people on the sidewalk. At
last I reached the landing, and, there being no horse on
the wharf, I jumped aboard my boat and got sail on her.
The tide was running down as 1 left the wharf and the

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NINETY TEARS

wind had hauled ahead, so I had to beat down river.
Off Whales Back Light it was quite choppy, as it always
is on the ebb tide with a fresh breeze blowing in the
harbor. The wind had hauled southeast and was in¬
creasing, but that did not worry me. Any lubber can
sail a boat before the wind, but beating to windward is
another matter. The wind was so fresh when I was half¬
way out to the islands that I had to reef my sails, but I
enjoyed the excitement of beating to windward in a gale
of wind! There is no better' open boat built than a
whaleboat, and mine behaved like a lady that day. I
reached home at half past two that afternoon, and
found that mother had been worried, but had saved a
good dinner for me. Father only said, “Did you have a
pleasant trip, sonny?”

Years ago I heard a story of a couple of Star Island
fishermen who went to Portsmouth with a load of fresh
fish. They landed at Spring Market and sold their fish
to Long John Caswell for eighteen dollars. With this
money they bought some groceries at Bill Downs’ store
nearby and a jug of Whiteeye, a New England medicine
much appreciated in those days. Getting sail on their
boat, they started down river for home. When they got
to Whales Back Light it looked rough outside, with a
stiff easterly wind blowing. They were both good
sailors, and, putting a reef in the foresail, kept on. Their
boat was an open wherry about twenty feet long. The
spray was flying over them, but they had on oil skins
and rubber boots, and would occasionally take a (Hill at
the Whiteeye, to neutralize the wet outside. All went
well until just before they were under the lee of

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Appledore, when a squall struck them, carrying away the
mast and half-filling their boat. Bill was forward and
sung out: “We are goners, pray for your life, Asa!” Asa
grabbed the bucket, saying: “You pray, Bill; I am going
to bail; something has got to be done damned quick!”

Rocks at Appledore

They were seen from Star Island and rescued, but it
was never fully established whether it was Bill or Asa
who saved the situation. Old Hing told me that Bill was
a Methodist, but that Asa was born a Christian Baptist.

Old Hing knew many stories about the islands. He
told me one which he said happened before he was
born. It seems the minister was preaching a sermon on
“Preparedness; — the tremendous importance of being

r'-K • ' •

NINETY YEARS

prepared.” To illustrate his remarks, he said, — “Sup¬
pose you were caught fishing southwest of White Island,
or off Peter Mathes Ledge, and a furious northeast gale
sprung up, so strong you could not row or sail against it,
the spray flying over you and your anchor dragging, —
what would you do? What could you do but pray?” A
fisherman in the northwest corner of the church got up
and said, “I know what I’d do. I5d double reef my
fores’l and scud away for Squam!” Squam is a small
harbor on the Massachusetts shore, south southwest of
Star Island, and dead to leeward in a northeaster. Hing
said, “I bet that feller would have made Squam all
right.”

“That yarn puts me in mind of something that
happened when I was a lad”, continued Old Hing. “It
was about the time that Elder Plummer first came to
Star Island. The Elder was always preaching against
our going fishing on Sunday. There were so many bad
days, generally, during the week, we would take ad¬
vantage of a pleasant Sunday. The Elder kept on
preaching and finally got the women on his side until
we gave up going. But Asa Caswell held out, and one
fine Sunday morning started out about sunrise. There
was a light air to the eastward, and he sailed about four
miles southwest of White Island and anchored. He was
so busy loading his boat with haddock that he did not
notice the wind was increasing; when he did notice it
he put a reef in the foresail and tried to beat home, but
he was too late. The next day the wind was to the west¬
ward, and about noon Asa luffed up in Star Island
Cove, safe and sound, with a lot of groceries on board,

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

and twenty-one dollars in his pocket.” I asked, “What
did Elder Plummer say to that?” “Never opened his
head”, said Hing.

It was this year that J. Mason Parker first came to
Appledore. He was remarkable for the elegance of his
attire and manners, which mirrored generations of the
culture of Boston, from whence he came. O, how
superb he appeared in evening dress, patent leather
shoes, silk stockings and flowered vest! Here was some¬
thing that would have made even Beau Brummel look
like thirty cents. Of course it was impossible for us to
approach the ensemble of this meteor of fashion, and
we were feeling a bit of envy. I noticed that some of the
young visitors were brushing up, for we found that
Parker was weaning our best girls away from us. For
the first time in my life I polished my shoes and gave
more thought to my clothes.

My young friend Mary Porter, who was trying to
teach me the French language, had discovered that
Parker was a master of French and she would talk with
him in that language every chance she had. She said
that she must not neglect the opportunity to improve
her accent. I felt forsaken, and asked Mary what it was
about J. Mason Parker that made him so attractive to
the ladies. “Why”, she replied, “we find Mr. Parker so
aufaitl Such savoir faire is irresistible, you know.” That
seemed true enough, but I was far from satisfied. With
all J. Mason Parker’s accomplishments he had one
failing, — he was never on time for breakfast. One day he
came to father’s desk in the office and said, “Mr.
Faighton, I am accustomed at home to have the

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NINETY YEARS

waiter bring my breakfast to my room every morning
at ten o’clock. Can I make that arrangement with
you?” Father looked his disapproval, as he said, “De¬
cidedly not. If you cannot be on deck for breakfast at
seven-thirty, you had better go home!” The very next
morning J. Mason did not show up when the bell rang.
Father handed me the long tin horn used in foggy
weather to guide the boats to the landing, and said, —
“Go up to that man Parker’s room and blow like
thunder!” I rushed upstairs, tingling with delight at this
happy chance to blow J. Mason Parker up. On reaching
his room, I put the big end of the horn through the open
ventilator over the door and blew with all my might.
Not hearing anything, I gave him another summons
with all my youth and energy back of the blast. Sud¬
denly a burning, bitter-tasting liquid rushed down to
my end of the horn, and the notes of my morning call
died fitfully away. I rushed, sputtering, back to the
office, and father sung out— “Did you get him, Oscar?”
“No”, I cried, “he got me!” The boarders were just
coming out from breakfast, and when the adventure was
explained they screamed with laughter. Col. Bailey was
so overcome that I almost forgot my burning throat in
the effort to bring him to. Just then, J. Mason Parker,
calm, clean shaven, and exquisitely dressed, came
down the stairs. Father said, “Look here, Parker, what
in thunder did you pour down that horn?” “Why,”
Parker replied, “I grabbed the first thing 1 could lay my
hands on to stop the bally noise. This happened to be
my pint bottle of hair tonic, and I gave the gentleman
at the other end of the horn the whole of my precious

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Restorer!” Col. Bailey looked at me with watery eyes,
and gasped, “Warranted to make hair grow on the liver,
if taken internally.” Then he gave way to moments of
intense enjoyment. I did not hear the last of my es¬
capade all summer. Everyone would greet me with,
“Have you had your morning tonic, Oscar?” I let J.
Mason Parker have all the beauty sleep he needed
after that.

I was feeling down-hearted, when one day, soon
after, Mary came to me and said, “Where is your
French grammar? I will try and help you again,
Oscar.” “O, Mary, have you quarreled with Parker?”
“C’est fait de lui. Les plus sages ne le sont pas toujour s”
Mary replied. This filled my heart with joy, though to
this day I do not know what the dear girl was trying to
tell me.

It is difficult to recall everything that happened
seventy-five years ago. What I remember most vividly,
during the summer of 1855, was that Nancy began to
show temper. Ben had complained of this, but we did
not realize the fact till one day at dinner. A party from
Dover, New Hampshire, who had already discussed
two plates of chowder each, as well as several broiled
mackerel, asked Nancy what she had for dessert.
Nancy replied, “Pandowdy”. Now, we are inclined
to think that this delicious dish must have been un¬
known in Dover, for the party became rather hilarious
and perhaps tried to have some fun with Nancy. We
never knew exactly how it was, but Nancy got mad and
refused to wait on them. However, they kept calling:
“We want pandowdy!” until mother heard of the

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NINETY TEARS

difficulty and immediately sent Mary Becker in with
heaping plates of it. Did they enjoy the pandowdy?
I should say they did! calling for more and giving
Mary a dollar. I never saw such ecstasy on any human
countenance as John Weiss showed when mother
told him.

The small cottage, still standing at the southwest
point of Appledore, was built by Mr. Thaxter in 1855
for a Star Island fisherman, who occupied it for many
years. On this part of the island, before the Revolution,
was situated the town of Appledore, with six hundred
inhabitants, some of the original settlers coming from
the fishing village of Appledore in Devonshire, Eng¬
land; settling here before there was a house in Ports¬
mouth, or even in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Codfish
were so plentiful that they shoaled like bait fish, from
which fact the Isles of Shoals took its name. The settle¬
ment flourished, with six ships running the dried fish to
Spain. On Smuttynose and Star Islands were several
hundred fishermen, making about a thousand inhabit¬
ants on the isles, including the town of Appledore. The
leading men were Ambrose Gibbons, Philip Babb and
William Peppered, the father of Sir William Peppered,
who was born on Appledore Island. The site of his
house is marked by a bronze tablet set in the ledge. On
Appledore Island was a church and court-house, with
the first Academy in ad New England, where young
men were sent to be educated. The best wed of water is
at the southwest part of the island, and the village was
clustered near it. Garden wads and traces of dwelling
places can still be found on the island. The southwest

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NINETY TEARS

cove is called Smith’s Cove, for Captain John Smith,
who first charted these islands in 1614.

In my boyhood, mackerel, bluebacks and porgies
seemed to fill the whole ocean around our islands, and
three hundred vessels would often be seen catching
mackerel. They were, for the most part, pinky built
craft with sharp sterns not built in these days. The
mackerel were caught with jigs, a light pole with sharp
hook without barb at the end. Porgies, ground up fine
in a mill made for the purpose, would be scattered in the
water alongside the vessel, the mackerel gathering to
feed on this bait. The fishermen would push the jig into
the solid bank of mackerel, pulling up quickly and
catching them so fast that they would soon have the
deck dancing with fish. Countless thousands were
caught in this manner. I landed enough mackerel that
year to buy me a good gun. Purse seines, for catching
schools of fish in deep water, were not in use then. The
Becker boys were using father’s seine, which was a drag
seine, and could only be used when the fish were close
in shore. Yet they caught three hundred barrels of
mackerel at one haul that summer, and were glad to get
fifty cents a barrel from the Cape Ann fishing vessels.
The great schools of fish began to disappear when the
purse seines came into use, as the fish could be taken in
any depth of water. It is difficult now to get fresh
mackerel for the hotels, as the Italian and Portugese
fishermen, with power boats and purse seines are
sweeping the fish out of the North Atlantic Ocean.

Father had been so successful in the hotel that about
the year 1859 he planned to add more rooms to the

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

hotel, by erecting a wing to the north of the first build¬
ing and south of the north cottage. This addition,
having forty rooms and a large dance hall, was built
that summer, many of the new rooms being engaged by
visitors for the next season. This new building was
completed outside and connected with the hotel
proper by a covered piazza. Father kept one carpenter
to put on the inside finish, hang the doors and lay the
floors. This man’s name was Amos Jenness, of Rye, New
Hampshire. He was the most pessimistic old fellow I
ever met, or, perhaps “cranky” would be a better term.
I had a kit of tools and helped him with the work that
winter. One day Amos and I had a little difference as to
how a door should be hung, and Amos exclaimed:
“ What do you know, you never saw an apple tree in blowthV *
That was true enough, and he might have added,
“that you never saw a locomotive.”

Father had always been lame from an accident in his
youth and had always walked with a cane, but now he
was using a crutch. Cedric and I were getting to be big
boys and able to help father a bit with the management
of the business. It was this year that the Springbird was
lost in a fierce gale from the northwest. She was fast to
her mooring off Appledore when the chain parted and
she came ashore near the landing, a total wreck in the
heavy sea. We were troubled about getting another
vessel for our line to Portsmouth, but finally arranged
with Henry and Charles Becker to run their schooner,
which was a good-sized able boat.

Appledore was famous for the distinguished visitors
who came every year. Franklin Pierce, afterwards

NINETY YEARS

President, came with his wife and son. Mr. Pierce was
an old political friend of my father’s. I heard him tell
some gentlemen at the Appledore that he heard my
father make the best speech without notes he ever
listened to. Young Pierce was about our age and a good
swimmer. He joined us in the water at Blue Beach
daily. Cedric could dive in ten feet of water and pick up
a coin on the sandy bottom. Our young friend thought
that a great feat and tried hard to do it. We heard,
some time after he left us, that the fine young fellow was
killed in a railroad accident. I have always thought it
safer on the water than on land, but of course it is
important to keep an eye to the windward wherever
you are.

Appledore was becoming the gathering place for
literary people. Such men as Thaxter and Weiss were
drawing the best authors and painters in New England
to our island. This year we had John G. Whittier and
his sister Elizabeth, William Morris Elunt, T. W.
Higginson, James Russell Lowell, and two young men
from Portsmouth, James T. Fields and Thomas Bailey
Aldrich.

In Mr. Thaxter’s small cottage on the southwest of
Appledore dwelt a fisherman with his family, named
John Cook Randall. John was a character, and a past
master in the art of swearing. One day Weiss and
Thaxter were over talking with John about a porgie net
he was anxious that Thaxter would buy for him.
Suddenly John called to his eldest son to go to the well
for a bucket of water. The boy was sullen and did not
start. John told him again to go; but there was nothing

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

doing. Then John said: “Fred, go into the house and
bid your mother good-bye, for you have only five min¬
utes to live!” The boy grabbed the bucket and ran to
the well for the water. If anything happened to please
Weiss and Thaxter, they would run and tell mother.
The three of them enjoyed John Cook’s method of
encouraging his boy.

There was great competition among the Portsmouth
pilots, and it was very important to have fast boats.
One of the pilots, Rufus Preble, of Newcastle, had
secured a beautiful yacht named Sibyl. She was a
sister ship to the famous America; both boats being
built by George Stears, of New York. The Sibyl was a
trifle smaller than the America, but had the same lines
and was a fast boat. Her cabin was beautifully finished,
with fine paintings in the panels. Here was the most
magnificent yacht ever seen in our waters. She had a big
lug foresail and beat them all going to windward. The
wind dead ahead did not make much difference to this
splendid craft. We finally made arrangements with
Captain Preble to run his new boat on our line from
Applcdore to Portsmouth. The Sibyl was the largest and
best boat we had ever had running for us, and Ports¬
mouth people liked her, many coming out for the sail
and to have dinner. Captain Preble was a first rate
navigator, but rather a blunt sort of man. Father, in
making the agreement with him, spoke of the impor¬
tance of being attentive and courteous to the passengers,
especially to the ladies. Preble said: “Yes, I know
women are naturally terrific”. We thought he must
mean easily terrified, but there is still a doubt about

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NINETY TEARS

what he had on his mind. I begged mother to let me
know when she would tell Mr. Weiss about Preble’s
contretemps, for I loved to watch the radiant joy that
dawned in his handsome face when anything pleased
the dear fellow.

Cedric went to Portsmouth with mother for the first
time when he was fourteen. They were gone three days,
as mother had many things to buy for the hotel. They
stayed with Uncle William Rymes on Bow Street. The
second day Cedric could not be found, and there was
great excitement until Uncle William looked down
cellar, and there they found him sitting on the wood
pile, utterly sick of Portsmouth and wanting to get
home. The only thing that interested my brother was a
flock of tame pigeons on the place. Uncle William se¬
cured eight for him, and when Cedric got home we
made a dovecote in the gable of the barn, keeping the
pigeons shut up for a week. When they were finally let
out we were rejoiced that they did not fly back to
Portsmouth, as Uncle William had feared.

Mr. Thaxter and sister had lived in the North Cot¬
tage ever since their marriage, and their first child was
born there. Not for a hundred years, or since the islands
were abandoned when the British fleet came in our
harbor had there been a birth on the island. The boy
was named Karl. Sister was very happy with her
family, and becoming quite famous with her literary
work.

Nathaniel Hawthorne came to visit us, bringing a
Letter of Introduction from General Franklin Pierce.
Mr. Hawthorne was greatly interested in our islands.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

I sailed with him to White Island Light and Star Island
in my whaleboat, not realizing until long after, when I
had read his wonderful books, the great privilege I
enjoyed. He mentioned me in his American Notes. Mr.
Hawthorne would pass the evenings with the Thaxters.
His son, Julian Hawthorne, came to Appledore for
many summers, camping out on the island.

Mr. Thaxter’s father gave him a fine estate near the
Charles River, in Newtonville, Massachusetts, and he
moved his family there. We built an addition on the
North Cottage to the westward, doubling its size, and
giving us a large billiard room on the lower floor. The
hotel piazza was extended to this building, making a
splendid walk.

For several years we were planning to make a bathing
pool out of the upper cove in front of the hotel. This
cove, of about an acre, would be full at high water, but
entirely empty at low. We finally enclosed it with a
tight dam, keeping it full all the time; but there was a
gate to let the water out, if desired. This proved the
best improvement we had yet made. Bathing houses for
girls were built on the south side, and on the north
others were built for boys. Often a hundred people
would be in the water at one time. There were also row
and sail boats on the pond, and a side-wheel paddle
craft, the crank turning by hand. Thousands of children
learned to swim and sail a boat in the many years we
were running the hotel!

Starting in 1848, we were the pioneers in establishing
a summer hotel on the New England Coast. A dozen
years later there were several along shore, from Rye

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NINETY YEARS

Beach to the islands oil Portland Harbor. In i860,
Appledore House would accommodate three hundred
people, and more rooms were needed; but father was
not well, and we delayed building. The people would
gather around my father, greatly interested in his con¬
versation and stories about the island. Mr. Caleb
Cushing came often to visit him and many other old-
time friends. Even those who were opposed to him in
politics, respected his sterling attainments. I remember
a fine old gentleman from Boston who came every year.
I think his name was John Bigelow. He was interested
in astronomy and father took great delight in talking
with him about the stars. We heard that Mr. Bigelow
had been Ambassador to England.

It seemed to me that the most beautiful girls in all the
world were visiting Appledore. Every summer I would
fall so deeply in love, it would take me all the next
winter to come to; then the returning season it would
happen all over again. I remember a girl named
Virginia, from Germantown, Penn., who mademy heart
tremble in i860. 1 have always felt a great respect for
that far-off inland place for raising such a heavenly
creature. She wore a blue flannel dress that summer,
and was ever ready for a sail in my whaleboat. One eve¬
ning we were out rowing in my light wherry, drifting
off White Island, when the moon rose in soft majesty
out of the far eastern waters. Overhead shone Vega and
the Northern Cross in the Constellation of the Swan.
Virginia was enchanted. It was indeed very beautiful,
but I hardly gave the wonders of the evening a
thought as I looked in the eyes of my dear companion.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

She was seventeen and I was twenty-one. The day Vir-
. ginia was going away she came into the boat-house,
where I was repairing one of the row boats. I feel sure
she knew I loved her, for she was very sweet and prom¬
ised to write, and was surely coming back the next year.
I had in my pocket this verse I had written to her:

VIRGINIA

Warm blows the South wind over Appledore!

The Northern gales that whirled the winter main
In leagues of foam, rage round these Isles no more;

Through melting haze summer drifts North again.

And thou art here — O, radiant is the day!

The clover blooms, our lonely Isles grow fair,

Soft sunshine falls across the slumbering bay,

The sparrow’s song fills the enchanted air.

Sweet, when you turn your lovely eyes on me
I feel the winter’s sorrow disappear,

As dawn divine makes glad a storm-swept sea,

You are my Sun, my Song, my Summer, Dear.

I declare she seemed pleased when I found courage to
give her my poor effort, for I saw a sweet look in her
eyes, as she placed my poem in the bosom of her dress.
Just as she left the boat-house, Ben Whaling came down
out of the loft, and I fear he saw her kiss me good-bye,
for he said, “Don’t you believe one word they say. I
have found ’em out. You can’t depend on ’em. Take my
advice, have nothing to do with the critters.” Poor old
Ben had been with us ever since I was a baby and was
loyal to our family, or I should have told him to go to
thunder. I only said, “They are not all alike, Ben.”

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NINETY TEARS

Alarming accounts of the unrest in the Southern
States reached us during the winter of 1861, and in
April war was declared. I remember in July a news¬
paper account of the Battle of Bull Run was read to a
large gathering on the piazza at Appledore. There
were grave faces in the company, for the people began
to feel there was to be no boy’s play in the struggle. How
cruel it all was! Brothers and sisters against each other,
fighting for principles both held were right. I wanted to
go, with a boy’s hope that 1 might meet Virginia, but
mother said 1 must not think of it, as father was far from
well.

My brother and I decided to build a cottage for father
and mother, that they might retire from the cares of the
business. The house was completed that summer and
later was well known as the “Thaxter Cottage”. It had a
fine view of the hotel and grounds, bathing pool and
landing. Father and mother were greatly pleased with
it, and in October were occupying the new cottage.
From that time on Cedric and I managed the business
alone. In the very first season, without mother’s help,
we began to realize how much her oversight had meant
for the fortune of Appledore. Bad management in the
kitchen had cut the profits down terribly, and our table
had not been up to the mark. Not once had we had
pandowdy! The next season we secured a good steward
and made a better showing.

On the ioth of March, 1862, word reached us that
the Monitor had defeated the Merrimac! The North
was at last realizing the resources and determination of
the South. On our far-off island we did not hear much

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

about the war. Visitors were coming in ever increasing
numbers, and they seemed glad to get away from all
rumors of the unfortunate struggle.

Our cousin, Christopher Rymes, came to visit us this
year. He had grown up a fine fellow and had made
good with his remarkable knowledge of machinery,

Celia Thaxter’s Cottage

being a partner in a big machine shop in Massachusetts,
also having invented the rotary valve for steam engines,
hydraulic presses for tobacco works, and a new portable
hoisting engine. He went to Boston when he was
eighteen to seek his fortune, with barely enough money
to reach there. In a short time he became the leading
civil engineer in Massachusetts, whose opinion in
difficult mechanical problems was sought far and wide.
Chris was not only a gifted man, but was a delightful

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3§g

NINETY TEARS

companion, with that appreciation of fun that made our
friend John Weiss so irresistible.

There was a vessel fishing in Ipswich Bay that winter
that I liked the looks of. Her name was “Lone Star”,
Captain Johnson. I watched her in all kinds of weather
and noticed that she ever behaved like a lady, close
hauled on the wind, beating to Portsmouth in a heavy
northeaster, or running before it coming out. I made up
my mind that she was a good sea boat. In the spring
after the winter fishing was over, we induced Captain
Johnson to part with her. She proved a great addition
to our fleet, being large enough to bring lumber and
heavy freight from Portsmouth. She carried us safely
for twenty years, when we lost her in a fearful south¬
easter. The boating and fishing were greatly enjoyed by
our guests, and we had bought three more whale boats
and a dozen row boats.

Nancy had left us to marry a fisherman named
Brennan from Star Island. Ben went immediately to
Portsmouth on a terrible tear and never returned. We
were fortunate in getting a nice young chap named
Edwin Caswell, from Rye, to take Ben’s place. He
finally married a girl mother had taken. This couple
was with us for forty years, proving most efficient and
loyal.

In 1863 we had in our employ an old fellow by the
name of William Perkins. I think Bill must have been a
horse trader by birth, for he was always talking about
horses, and what a help it would be if we had a horse at
Appledore, as everything had to lie brought up from
the boat by hand. Of course there were no roads, but

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Bill said that if you have a horse you can soon make
a road. Bill could not keep his mouth hushed about the
horse all summer, and at last won us over to the im¬
portance of this move. We talked with father about it,
but he did not think favorably of the plan, saying a
horse was a dangerous animal. I told him I thought so
too, but that Bill knew of a black mare, gentle as a
kitten, never known to bite or kick. I went to Ports¬
mouth with Bill to have a look at this paragon, and
found her in a stable kept by a fat old fellow named
Larrabee. It was fun to hear Mr. Larrabee expatiate on
the animal. I said: “Are you sure he won’t bite, Mr.
Larrabee?” Bill told me afterward that in the thirty
years he had known Larrabee he never saw him smile
before. Bill showed me how gentle the critter was, tak¬
ing up its feet and offering Black Bess every inducement
to kick. I finally had courage to pat the dear thing, and
became very fond of Bess. Her eyes were mild, and she
had a friendly way of swinging her ears forward when I
patted her. I paid a hundred dollars for the horse, and
Mr. Larrabee told Bill he could get a light dump cart
and harness from a farmer in Greenland. Bill secured
Bess to a light wagon and we drove to Greenland. It was
in September, apples were ripe on the trees and the
country beautiful. I enjoyed that trip and all the excite¬
ment of having a horse. Black Bess behaved like the
lady she was, and we were soon at Air. Frink’s place,
where we found the dump cart and harness. Bill said it
was all right, just what we needed, so we made a bar¬
gain with Mr. Frink to deliver the cart and harness at
our wharf in Portsmouth for one hundred and twenty

■

NINETY TEARS

dollars. It seemed a pretty good price, but Bill said it
was a great trade, for the harness was about new and the
cart exactly what we would need.

With Ed Caswell I rigged a stall forward of the main
mast on the Lone Star for the horse. Bess walked aboard
without difficulty. We took the wheels off the cart and
hoisted that aboard with the throat hilliards. There was
a crowd on the wharf as we got sail on our ship and
started down river on the first of the ebb tide. Someone
sung out to Bill to be sure and hold the horse’s head
in case of sickness. The wind was west with no sea
running outside, giving us a fine chance out. I was
filled with astonishment at the intelligence of Bess in
negotiating the platform we rigged for her to step
ashore. Finally the first horse ever to be at Appledore
was landed.

Bill was crazy to get the wheels on the cart and the
mare in harness, which he finally did, driving up to the
hotel with all the pomp and circumstance of an old
time stage coach! The next day there was a long article
in the Portsmouth paper about the veteran horseman,
William Perkins, taking out the first horse ever to visit
the Isles of Shoals. It seems the reporter went to the
stable and old Larrabee told him a lot of stuff he
claimed I said when looking the horse over; that I
liked the shear of the hull; that the timbers seemed
sound, a good strong fore-foot, not too much by the
head, well sparred, a good clean run aft that ought to
leave a smooth wake, and that I hoped the rigging
would not cost more than the hull. There were a lot
more lies old Larrabee told the reporter, but Bill said all

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

was fair in a horse trade. The only thing I said to Larra-
bee was “Does he bite?”

We were finding the horse a great acquisition, and
began immediately to make a road from the landing to
the rear of the hotel, and soon we could drive way
around to the barn.

I was proud one day when taking Bess by the fore-top
and leading her up to the cottage for father and mother
to see. They thought she was a beauty. Bess was hand¬
some, shiny black, with a white star in her forehead. I
held my hand close to the horse’s mouth, to show
father she would not bite. Father coughed, and said we
were lucky to get a gentle creature and was convinced
she would prove a great help.

Bill Perkins kept saying we ought to have a whifhe-
tree and a drag to move stones too heavy to lift into the
cart. We secured this rig, and it did wonders in helping
us make a nice lawn in front and a couple of tennis
courts. It was astonishing what a load Bess could pull!

One day I was at work in the shop soon after we got
the horse, when I heard a fearful racket in the barn. I
rushed out there and found Bess dancing around with a
big steel rat trap fast to her nose. The trap had a long
chain on it, and Bess kept tossing her head so the chain
would bang against the beams overhead and rattle
down again. No wonder she was frightened. The dear
thing was trembling, but kept still while 1 pried the
trap apart and freed her, throwing the contraption into
a corner of the barn. Bess watched it with staring eyes,
to see if it was moving, and ever after would look with
suspicion in the corner, doubtless thinking it was

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NINETY TEARS

something alive, with a long tail, trying to bite her.
We found that Ed Caswell had set the trap in a bucket
to catch a rat, covering the trap with oats, and Bess,
in reaching for the oats, had sprung the darned thing.

About the middle of April, in 1865, the sad news
reached us of the assassination of Lincoln, the most
uncalled for and infamous act ever perpetrated. This
unfortunate event greatly disturbed father, now unable
to leave his cottage, as he was confined to his chair most
of the time. Our cousin Ryrries had rigged a wheel
chair so that father could move himself about the
piazza of his cottage. His friends at the hotel would
call on him, which he enjoyed very much; especially
that fine old gentleman, John Bigelow, who would read
to him and talk about the stars.

Celia had not been home since she went to live in
Newtonville. That she was longing for the Islands is
evident from her verses published in the Atlantic
Monthly: —

LAND-LOCKED

Black lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight llee;

And, catching gleams of sunset’s dying smile,

Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!

O yearning heart, that never can be still!

O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,

Longing for level line of solemn sea!

Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,

Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,

All summer’s glory thine from morn till night,

And life too full of joy for uttered words.

•tttlvVt V WAY.

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,

To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, — my name they speak!

O Earth! thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.

Celia Thaxter

In the spring of 1 866 mother felt so worried about
father she sent for Celia, who came at once, to find
father failing fast. We were all near him when his brave
spirit drifted away. A good man had gone, upright, just,
and the soul of honor. His grave is on the Island of
Appledore he loved so well. It seemed we never could
recover from this blow. Mother went with sister when
she returned to Newtonville. Cedric and I tried hard to
forget in the ocean of work ever to be done on the island.
A passenger steamer, called The Pioneer, had then been
built in Portsmouth for the Isles of Shoals business. We
had a big gang of workmen enlarging our dining-hall;
the new room being 138 feet long by 45 feet wide would
seat 500 people. The ceiling was arched, making a fine
looking room.

We found the steamboat was doubling our transient
business, but she was not a very good sea boat. After a
couple of years we decided to build our own boat, to be

J.-f!

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NINETY YEARS

called “The Appledore”. T he contract for the hull was
given to a Portsmouth builder in September, and our
cousin Rymes was to put in the machinery. The
steamer was completed and ready to run in June of the
following year, and could carry 150 people, making the
trip from Portsmouth (ten miles) in about an hour. By
sailboat the trip was longer, sometimes, with head tide
and light winds, taking all day. With the certainty of the
steamer, people were flocking to our islands. When the
steamer was part way over, the captain would blow the
whistle once for every ten passengers, so we would
know how many were on the boat before she arrived.
Old Colonel Bailey hatched up a yarn that if there were
ten blasts of the whistle we would run and put an extra
bucket of water in the chowder! We had to hush his
mouth with Washington pie again.

I was in love with a girl that summer, and did not
care what anybody was saying. One day a man and
woman missed the return boat, and, as they were
exceedingly anxious to get ashore, I carried them across
to Rye Beach in my whale boat. It was late when I
started back and the wind increased from the northeast,
so I had to reef both sails. I got wet through, with the
flying spray, and had to keep bailing, but had no
thought of danger; in fact, all my thoughts were for the
angel waiting for me at Appledore. I hope I may
be forgiven for entering in my journal this verse,
which ran in my mind on the way home. It did not
occur to me at the time that it was ridiculous. How
beautiful is youth, that can forget everything but the
beloved!

> . / )f[ < ’* 1) \ 33

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

SONG

My boat is plunging through the gale,

Darkness and wind and flying spray
May rend the bolt rope from the sail,

Or carry the brave mast away!

White Island Light is lost in mist,

Veiled in wild storm the distant shore,

Yet, yesterday the sunlight kist
The Eastern clifls of Appledore!

To-morrow’s sun may find the sea
All radiant, and my day divine,

And one I love may smile on me,

Keeping her gentle hand in mine.

An old Norwegian sailor, named Ben Bernsten, who
was working at Appledore, was ever telling us of his
family, wife and six children, he had left in Norway;
that if he could only get them over he would be a happy
man. We advanced some money and he sent for his
family. The Haley cottage at Smuttynose Island was
vacant, and we let Ben have it with some furniture to
make the place comfortable. Ben’s folks came by sailing
vessel, and they were so long on the way that poor Ben
was distracted; but, at last, they reached Appledore,—
a dear old mother, four nice girls and two boys. Their
meeting was something beautiful, though we could not
understand a word they were saying to each other. My
mother at once made arrangements for the two eldest
girls to stay with her. Their names were Mina and
Ovidia, twelve and fourteen years of age. They proved a
great help and delight to mother. When the Bernsten
family first came they could not speak a word of English,

NINETY TEARS

but Mina and Ovidia were soon talking under mother’s
tuition, and they were with mother until she died,
always sweet and faithful. Olaf Brauner, a young
Norwegian artist, who was painting at the islands, fell in
love with the youngest sister, Nicolina, and they were
married when she had grown up. Mr. Brauner had real
talent, his pictures of Rocks at Appledore making him
famous, and he is now at the head of the Art School at
Cornell University. We were fond of this Norwegian
family, and they were reliable and perfectly honest.

There was another family named Ingerbretsen, who
came to us, and we arranged for them at the Southwest
Cottage. There were nine of them, father, mother, and
seven children. Some of the boys were old enough to
help their father with the fishing, and they were pros¬
perous. The great Norwegian violinist, Ole Bull, was
staying at Appledore and gave a concert to aid the
Norwegian families at the islands. I remember how
splendid Ole Bull appeared as he stood with his violin
before the great gathering in our Music Room. He
played divinely and the audience was delighted. Three
hundred and eighty-five dollars were realized for our
Norwegian friends.

Summer is perfectly beautiful at our islands. I recall
one lovely day when the weird mirage crept tremulously
down the distant coast of New Hampshire, throwing
the shore and passing vessels high up in fantastic shapes.
Off Appledore Point the water was sparkling deliciously
in the sweet south wind; the steamer from Portsmouth
having blown seven blasts of her whistle, showing she
had seventy passengers on board. There was always

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

some excitement on the arrival of the boat. Most of the
passengers were just out for the day, though a number
were taking rooms, among them being John T. Trow¬
bridge. My brother Cedric was standing by when Mr.
Trowbridge wrote his name in our register, and he
inquired: “Are you the man who wrote the 'Wild
Geese’? It is beautiful.” Mr. Trowbridge seemed pleased
at Cedric’s spontaneous admiration of his wonderful
verse, as he replied, — “Why yes, T wrote it, but it does
not compare with Mrs. Thaxter’s Sandpiper!” It was a
great delight to meet a man like Mr. Trowbridge, quiet,
unassuming, yet, to lovers of nature, the charm of his
verse stands unrivaled in American literature.

Our island was a paradise for young lovers. There
was delight and romance in the very air, in the sparkle
of the water and magic of the star-lit nights. Hardly a
summer passed without an engagement, and one season
there were five. I earnestly endeavored to bring the
number up to six, but could not seem to make the young
lady I was so fond of that year understand the im¬
portance of this. She was ever sweet to me, but elusive.
We were often sailing together in my whaleboat, which
she learned to manage, as I lay at her feet. One day the
beloved and I were walking through the field of red
clover in front of the hotel, leading up to my sister’s
cottage garden fence. In sister’s parlor William Mason
was playing delightfully. That was fifty years ago, yet I
recall the lovely day and delicious murmur of the water
about the coves. All was peaceful, yet there was a
tumult in my heart. That evening I wrote a song to
my sweetheart, venturing next day to show it to

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NINETY TEARS

Mr. Whittier, who, with his sister Elizabeth were staying
at Appleclore that summer. Mr. W1 lit tier seemed pleased
with my verse, saying, “Thee did well, Oscar.” He sent
it to the Atlantic Monthly , and, to my astonishment, it
was published in that conservative magazine.

CLOVER BLOSSOMS

The clover blossoms kiss her feet,

She is so sweet,

While I, who may not kiss her hand

Bless all the wild flowers in the land.

Soft sunshine falls across her breast,

She is so blest.

I’m jealous of its arms of gold,

O, that these arms her form might fold!

Gently the breezes kiss her hair,

She is so fair.

Let flowers and sun and breeze go by,

O dearest, love me, or 1 die.

There were always about a hundred sheep on Apple-
dore. They were wild as the wildest, and when needed
for the table had to be shot. Most of the year they were
no trouble, as there was plenty of pasture, but in winter
they would seek the shelter of the spaces under the
piazza, and when snow was on the ground we gave
them hay and vegetables. After a storm they would
flock to the shore to feed on dulse and other delicacies
thrown up by the sea. The lambs came early in the
spring, seeming to flourish in the most inclement
weather. This island-fed mutton was the only meat
served at Appledore in the early days and was always

•\

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

appreciated by everyone excepting Col. Bailey. That
man found fault with pandowdy! One old gentleman,
named Colton, a dentist from New York, who came
every summer, brought an air gun with him, the first
we had ever seen, and with this gun he could pick out a
lamb with wonderful precision. Dr. Colton told us he
was the first in dental work to make use of anesthesia in
this country. He had a wonderful watch, which he said
cost a thousand dollars in Switzerland. One day he was
showing us the remarkable things the watch would do,
— the moon’s place, the time of high water, and many
more things, when Col. Bailey said: “Will it give the
price of cotton in New Orleans, doctor?” Dr. Colton
turned fairly white, and afterwards he tolcl us he hated
the sight of Col. Bailey. The strange characters that
came to Appledore were a never-ending source of
wonder and speculation to my brother and myself.

I know now that my mother was the most beautiful
lady in. beautiful New England. It was a delight to see
her standing at her spinning wheel spinning the yarn
with which she made stockings for us all. When I was
young I would often think some girl visitor was perfect
and incomparable; but I know now there was not one to
compare with mother. When she was a girl she spun
flax and made homespun cloth for her family. To think
that when I was eighteen I became so crazy about a
young lady at our house that when she departed I
found a pair of old shoes she had left and kept them
under my pillow every night for years seems strange! If
they were removed, I could not sleep a wink, until I
replaced them!

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NINETY TEARS

A friend in South Carolina sent us a crate with a
dozen Southern Quail. They arrived in fine condition
and we let them loose on the island. In a couple of
years we had a large flock of them. During the winter
they would come around the barn for food we scattered
about for them, and it was delightful to hear them call
to each other in the spring. All went well with our quail
until one winter, in deep snow, they disappeared. We
thought they had been lost in the snow; but we heard
afterwards that a flock of quail had suddenly appeared
on Agamenticus Mountain in York, where quail had
never been seen before.

Someone sent us a couple of tame deer, and we found
them interesting, feeding on the lawn in front of the
hotel. We could not fmd them one day, and discovered
that they had swum to Smuttynose Island, which they
would do often, returning at night if there was not too
much sea running. The second summer we had them
they were inclined to fight everyone who came near, so,
fearing the children might get hurt, we had venison on
our bill of fare. Every one liked it but Col. Bailey. He
said “it tasted fishy and the cranberry sauce was full of
sticks. We were thankful no one took the least notice of
him.

I remember one fall Cedric was not well and mother
went with him to Portsmouth, staying with our uncle,
Dr. William Laighton. My friend Jim Randall was with
me at Appledore, and a girl mother had taken named
Lucy, then about fifteen years of age. Lucy was doing
the cooking for us, mother having taught her how to
make brown bread and pandowdy, so we got along

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

finely. Lucy was greatly in need of a new dress, and I
wrote to mother about it. In those days ready-made
dresses were not invented. Mother sent out a good piece
of cloth, saying she would make Lucy a dress the
moment she got home. There was a delay, and Jim and
I talked it over and decided it was imperative that we
should try ourselves to make the dress. Jim was a good
sailmaker and had a first rate palm and sail needle, and
we found a spool of carpet thread. Jim was about my
age, and we were close friends and 1 found it a real
pleasure to be with the dear fellow. I can never forget
the earnestness and dignity with which Jim spread the
cloth on the kitchen table and planned how to begin.
Jim said the piece of cloth was extra all wool gingham
and we must be careful in cutting it. He measured Lucy
with the yard stick and cut off a piece for the skirt,
which we managed to stitch together in pretty good
shape, and we were feeling greatly encouraged,— but
alas, we did not grasp the stupendous difficulties ahead
of us in the creation of the waist. We had to keep trying
it on Lucy, who was yery patient, buoyed up by the
excitement of having a new dress. Lucy seemed anxious
to have a pocket built in. There was great discussion
about this. Jim said it could be done, and was planning
to locate it on the starboard side, but finally gave up the
idea and contrived a big pocket in Lucy’s apron. We
watched Jim with intense admiration as he waxed Iris
thread and plied his sail needle. Jim was the leader in
the work. I may have suggested some little improve¬
ment, but it was Jim who made the discovery that it
must be made on a bias; also the secret of attaching the

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NINETY YEARS

sleeves. It was buttoned up behind. When we finally
finished it and put it on Lucy, it was a fit the great
Worth might have been proud of. Of course if we were
making a dress today for a girl, it would be an easy
matter, with no skirt to speak of, and very little waist to
fuss about. When mother returned, she seemed de¬
lighted with our dress-making. Dear old Jim is gone,
but Lucy survived her dress and is living in Portsmouth.
Jim was drowned by the swamping of his dory in a gale
of wind, about fifty-seven years ago. He was a splendid
boatman, but no seamanship could have averted the
disaster. I still recall the charming ways of the delight¬
ful fellow, and his gravity and resourcefulness in the
construction of that dress I can never forget. I wanted
to have the skirt pleated like one I saw on a girl that
year and which I admired very much, but Jim con¬
vinced me there would not be cloth enough for any¬
thing fancy, as we had already spoiled two yards
through errors in cutting. I think Lucy has. the dress
now, if any one cares to investigate the remarkable
creation.

There was such a demand for more rooms that we
decided to add fifty more by building a large wing to
the south of the main building. In the lower story of this
addition was a fine dance hall eighty feet by forty-five,
with a spring lloor. The old dance hall in the north
wing we changed into a billiard hall with four tables.
The extension to the piazza made the whole piazza
five hundred feet long. At this time we also had to build
a gas plant and pipe die whole establishment for gas
light. We found all these improvements, with the

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

building of our steamboat, cost seventy thousand dollars,
part of which we had to raise at a bank in Portsmouth.
We felt at the time that father would not have counselled
this, for he had cautioned us that in cruising round
banks it was more than ever important to keep an eye to
windward.

General Butler had captured a lot of bells at New
Orleans during the war, and sent a vessel load to Boston.
Our cousin Rymcs secured one of these and sent it
down to us. It was from a plantation near New Orleans,
and was sweet toned. We set it up in the belfry of the
center building, with a bell rope leading down into the
office. This bell was rung for meals and entertainments,
and on Sunday for church. The children were crazy to
ring the bell, speaking for the chance way ahead.

We had raised our prices a little, as we were now
running the hotel on modern lines, with the best chef
and baker we could procure, and a gilt-edged head
waiter. There were fifty girl waiters in the dining hall,
with lace caps and full regalia. Hoop skirts were going
out of fashion. Many families were returning every
season and a host of new people coming. Mr. Hart, a
gentleman from Massachusetts, made a bargain with us
to lease him a piece of land for twenty years. On this he
built a fine cottage; at the end of the twenty years the
cottage and land were to revert to us. A number of
others did the same thing, until there were nine private
cottages built, and Appledore Island began to look like
a village.

We were finding it important to reach Portsmouth,
after the large steamer was hauled up in the winter,

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NINETY TEARS

with greater speed and certainty than was possible by a
sail boat, and secured a small steamer to run to town, a
new boat about forty-five feet long, which proved a
good sea boat. We named her Pinafore for the new
opera just performing at the old Boston Museum. If we
were finding our horse the greatest help, the steam
launch was a close second, and it brought the Ports¬
mouth market within reach during the fall, winter and
spring, when the regular boat was not running. We had
the Pinafore for over twenty years, losing her in the
terrible gale in which the Steamer Portland went down
with over two hundred people, not one saved. I had a
captain’s and engineer’s license, so we were permitted
to run the Pinafore ourselves.

Our indebtedness to the bank was being gradually
wiped out, and the outlook to windward was very
encouraging, when one day in August of the year 1872
a man from Massachusetts, named John R. Poor,
arrived at Appledore, with his wife and daughter. T he
hotel was overflowing with people, some even sleeping
on the billiard tables; not a vacant room to offer Mr.
Poor, but lie insisted on remaining, and finally I gave
up my room to his wife and daughter and he slept on a
sofa in the writing-room. The next day some people left
and we were able to make the Poor family comfortable.
Mr. Poor was greatly interested in the island and
wanted to know if we would sell Smuttynose, which we
did not care to do. The Becker family had all left
Smuttynose, and this island was now occupied by a
family of Norwegians. Mr. Poor had been with us a few
days, when we discovered that he was secretly buying

’ ' >Ui( ; ' .■ )H 1 • ) iv/ ;

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

out the inhabitants of Star Island and the whole village
of Gosport. Star is a beautiful island, next in size to
Appledore. Mr. Poor succeeded in getting possession of
Star Island, and the people moved to the mainland.
In September a big gang of men were at work on Star
Island, clearing away the old dwellings to make room
for a large modern hotel. Mr. Poor seemed a man of
matchless energy and unbounded capital, and before we
had fairly recovered from our astonishment, his new
hotel was being built and he had commenced to adver¬
tise that his island was the Star of the group, and the
only one at which a landing, direct from the steamboat,
could be made. We felt that the building of a landing
for our steamboat was the most important move for us
to make to meet the competition at Star Island, and the
moment the season was over we started work on our
landing, by building a cribwork pier of red oak logs,
running as far out below low water mark as possible.
This was filled with thousands of tons of stone. This pier
still stands, though it was built over fifty years ago. The
winter following, we had a big flat boat built in Ports¬
mouth, thirty feet by one hundred. This was fastened by
ship chains to the ledges on each side of the cove, and
the flat boat connected by a bridge fifty feet long with
the pier. This made a splendid arrangement, as the
float was always at one height above water and made it
easy to land passengers and freight. While we were
building our landing, we heard that Mr. Poor had said:
“Haven’t the Laightons any friends to tell them what a
mistake they are making? Their landing won’t stand the
first gale of wind.” But he was mistaken. Jt was in use

I ■'» I ■

NINETY TEARS

for forty-one seasons, and still in good order when the
Appledore House and seven cottages burned down in
I9I4.

Work at Star Island was being rushed with a large
gang of men all winter, that the new Oceanic Hotel
might be ready for the next summer.

In March of 1873 occurred the terrible murder of two
Norwegian women on Smuttynose Island. It seemed
that the men folk of the family there had sailed to
Portsmouth with a load of fish, leaving their three wom¬
en alone on the island. A man named Louis Wagner, a
Prussian, was on the wharf in Portsmouth when the
men arrived. Hearing Capt. Hontvet and his crew
would not return to Smuttynose till next day, and
knowing the situation there, Wagner rowed out to the
islands during the night in a dory, a distance of ten
miles, and attempted to rob the Norwegian home. The
women discovered him, and he killed two of them. Mrs.
Hontvet managed to escape, hiding on the eastern
point of the island. Wagner’s tracks in the snow were
found around the buildings in his search for her. He
pulled back against a head wind, landing before day¬
light at Newcastle, where he was seen and recognized
by several people on his way to Portsmouth over the
Newcastle bridges. He took the first train to Boston, and
was trying to get passage on a vessel to Europe, when
Portsmouth police caught him. He was tried and found
“Guilty”, and hung at Thomaston, Maine. Mrs. Thaxter
wrote a good account of this “Memorable Murder”.

On the 20th of June, in 1873, both hotels at the Isles
of Shoals, with flying colors, swung wide their doors.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Two steamers were running to Portsmouth, Mr. Poor
having bought a fine boat about the size of ours. He was
advertising extensively that Star was the only island of
the group at which a direct landing could be made. He
had a man on the trains from Boston to Portsmouth
handing circulars to the passengers, explaining about
his landing and the greater attractions of the Oceanic.
H is energy and business methods were a revelation to
the Laightons. He had sent invitations to every yacht
club in the country to meet at the Oceanic and race for
a valuable cup. Five hundred yachts were soon in our
harbor. The race was around Boon Island, thirteen
miles to the northeast, and back round a spar buoy at
Appledore. The race was won by the yacht America,
with Col. French and Gen. Butler on board. The race
brought so many objectionable people to the Oceanic
that their exclusive guests moved over to Appledore to
escape the noise and confusion.

We found that the new hotel was not throwing us in
the shade, though it had an elevator and modern
improvements; however, we had been compelled to
raise more money to build the landing and improve the
plumbing. All this had cost over thirty thousand dollars.
Poor Poor had already put over three hundred thousand
dollars into the Oceanic, buying the island, building the
big hotel and landing, and the purchase of the steam¬
boat. The island alone had cost over a hundred thou¬
sand. The hotel season at the Isles of Shoals was from
the 20th of June to the 20th of September, but there
was no profit except in July and August. The passage
money on the steamboats barely paid to keep them

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

running. If Mr. Poor had consulted us we might have
saved him from making the mistake of his life; but he
ignored us, making all his deals secretly. We found the
new hotel did not harm us. All our old guests stuck to us,
and the tremendous advertising of the Oceanic was
bringing new people to Appledore. The steamer Pina¬
fore was running as a ferry between the hotels at ten
cents a trip, and doing a good business. She left each
landing every half hour, the run being about a mile
each way.

The Season of 1873 was full of excitement, with so
many strange things happening. Yet, I recall an event
of that year that made me forget everything else. I
allude, of course, to Louise. The darling came, with her
mother, early in July. I was in the office when the boat
arrived, and saw Louise talking with the room clerk.
She was trying to secure a room overlooking the bathing
pond and the landing for her invalid mother. At last
she said, “Is Mr. Laighton here?” I heard her, and
came forward at once. I shall never forget the heavenly
blue of her eyes as she turned toward me saying: “My
mother is not well and I am very anxious to get a room
up one flight with good outlook, as we wish to remain
for sometime.” Of course I lost my head and gave her
52, which we were holding for Mr. A. A. Ranney and
wife of Boston. This room was one of the best in the
hotel, and the one occupied by Nathaniel Hawthorne,
his name being on the door. Louise was charmed with
the room. Fortunately Mr. Ranney did not know the
room he was to have and a good one was vacant before
he arrived.

: ....

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NINETY YEARS

Oh, the lovely and never-to-be-forgotten days with
Louise! Cedric proved the good fellow he was by doing
my work while I was sailing, or rowing, with this angel
of light. Once Louise gave me a blue silk necktie long
enough to go round under my collar and tie in a double
bow-knot. Ever since, for over fifty years, I have worn a
blue tie! I can never forget the anguish of my heart
when, on the first of September, Louise departed. She
promised to write to me, but I never heard one word
from her. When I came to a little, I wrote this verse to
her —

SONG

Sweet wind that blows o’er sunny Isles
The softness of the sea,

Blow thou across these moving miles
News of my love to me.

Ripples her hair like waves that sweep
About this pleasant shore;

Her eyes are bluer than the deep
Round rocky Appledore.

Her sweet breast shames the scattered spray
Soft kissed by early light;

I dream she is the dawn of day
That lifts me out of night.

Mother was living at her cottage, having many
friends visit her. She was very fond of her nephew Chris
Rymes who came often to be with her. Celia, with her
three children, came every summer, and sometimes
John Weiss and Thaxter. These gentlemen would do
their utmost to make mother laugh, but the dear
woman was rather sad those days. Sister was developing

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

a wonderful flower garden in front of mother’s cottage,
and it became so famous that people came from the
mainland to see it. Sister’s book, “My Island Garden”,
gives an interesting account of her garden and life at the

View from Mrs. Thaxter’s Garden Gate

island at that time. She was devoted to the different
varieties of poppies, — the Bride and Shirley being favor¬
ites. These poppies are called the Celia Thaxter Poppies.

We had forty boats at Appledore, and it was quite a
job to get them painted and equipped for the season.
Our boatmen were from Star Island. Joe Haley, Jud

NINETY TEARS

Randall and Bill Berry were helping us to get the big
landing stage moored and everything on the water
front in good shape.

When the hotel opened that season there arrived, on
the first trip of the steamer from Portsmouth, a salesman
from Whitney’s Linen Store in Boston. We knew he
represented a good company, and gave him quite an
order. He was anxious to get over to Star Island, in the
hope that the Oceanic needed linen. There was a stiff
southerly wind blowing. 1 told him he would get wet,
but he said he did not mind, so I sent him down to the
boat-house to see if one of the boatmen would row him
over. He found Bill Berry and tried to make a bargain
with him to take him to Star Island, but Bill told him it
was too rough to undertake the trip. The linen man
offered him two dollars, but Bill said he would not
attempt it for ten. “A dory wouldn’t live off Appledore
Point”, he said. Finally the linen man said: ‘"Can I take
your dory and try it myself?” Bill said, “Sure, there are
two dories at the landing. Take your choice. The
yellow one is a good sea boat. Say, mister, I would like
to bet a dollar that you will have to come back.” The
linen man said he thought he could hardly make it, but
if Bill would let him have his oil skins and souwester he
would make the attempt. Bill fitted him out and
watched him as he looked the boats over, and saw that
he chose the white dory, which was a Swampscott built
boat with narrow bottom and flaring garboards. Bill
saw him take off his coat, vest, pants and stockings, and
put them carefully in his linen valise. His straw hat and
shoes he tucked under the after seat. Then, putting on

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

the oil clothes, he cast off the painter and started. He
had smooth water until he came to Appledore Point;
then came the tug of war. Bill lost sight of him as he
rounded the Point, and ran up to the house for the spy¬
glass, which he took to the top of the hill, where he
would have a clear view of the navigator. I went up
with Bill. We saw him just off the southwest point,
barely holding his own. The spray was flying, but he
kept crawling a bit to windward. I saw Bill was excited,
and he kept saying: “That beats me. If that ain’t grit I
never see it. I hope the feller will make it. If he holds
out a little longer he will be getting into smoother
water under the lee of Star.” This the plucky linen man
did and arrived all right at Oceanic, where lie put on
his clothes and ran up to the hotel to see if lie could
dispose of some linen. We were glad to hear afterwards
that he got a good big order. He started back in the
dory, before the wind, dry as a chip, and soon landed
again at Appledore. Bill and the boatmen were on the
dock as he came in. Bill said, “You did well, Mister;
did you find it anyways rough?” “Well,” said the linen
man, “you chaps might call it a bit rough, but it was
nothing to the sea I have pulled against in Massachu¬
setts Bay!” Bill offered him the dollar he had bet, but
the linen man would not take it. He told Bill if he would
visit Boston it would give him great pleasure to take
him to row on the Frog Pond! Bill’s shipmates saw to it
that he did not forget the adventure.

Some friend had sent Mr. Rymes a little cub bear , and
he brought it down to us. The baby bear was a great pet
all summer. In the fall the bear disappeared and we

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NINETY TEARS

thought it must have been washed overboard in a
storm, as there was no sign of it anywhere. We were all
astonished the next spring when the bear showed up,
rather emaciated, but active as ever. Where he found a
den for the bitter winter we never discovered. The bear
was with us for two years and had grown so big we were
afraid of it. One night we heard a great racket in the
store-room, and found that the bear had broken in and
done a lot of mischief. The pork barrel was upset and
the contents scattered. He had been head first into the
lard barrel, but the worst was that he had nosed the
faucet out of the molasses barrel, letting the molasses
run over the floor. This was too much, and we had to
shoot the critter.

After sister went home in September, mother closed
her cottage, and, much to our delight, came to live with
us at the hotel. We arranged a comfortable room for her,
with open fire and pleasant outlook. Ed Caswell’s wife,
Lucy, had been with mother many years and was de¬
voted to her. She had learned to cook and was very
efficient.

Christopher Rymes came down Christmas time,
bringing a parrot for mother, and this bird made great
fun for us. Poll was very fond of coffee and would
scream at breakfast time until she got it. The bird must
have come over from Africa on a ship navigated by
naughty sailors, for she had learned to swear in three
languages. One day Poll got out doors and flew to
Smuttynose. One of the men there, thinking it was a
hawk, was about to shoot, when Polly sung out: “You
go hell!” The man fled.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Cedric and Ed were at work on the hotel chambers,
painting and putting down new carpets. I was getting
our laundry fitted with a couple of washing machines I
had made, and setting up a steam mangle and wringer.
Rymes had furnished us with a steam engine to run the
machinery.

We did not see much of Brother Poor until spring. He
arrived one day early in March and came over to see us.
Mother made him stay to dinner. Something was said
about our new laundry, and- he was anxious to see
what we had done, as he was thinking of some improve¬
ments in his laundry at Star Island. He was greatly
interested in the new washing machines, and asked me
where we got them. He would hardly believe me when
I told him that I had made them during the winter;
thought I had done remarkably well. It was a good job.
The machines were put together with brass screws and
hinges, so there was no iron to rust the clothes. Those
machines did good work for over twenty years.

Some time in April a man arrived by special boat
from Portsmouth to see me, saying his company had
heard that I was infringing on their patent on laundry
machinery, and demanded to see what I had done. I
showed him my machines. He looked them over, and
said: “Very good, where did you get your idea?” I
explained that it was from an old-fashioned contrivance
for washing sheep skins which I had seen in Charles¬
town, Mass, (which was a fact) where I went with
Chris. Rymes, who was putting up machinery in a
tannery there. The man went back, and in a few days I
received a letter from his laundry company claiming

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NINETY TEARS

five thousand dollars for infringement, which, if settled
at once, might avoid expensive litigation for me. I told
Cedric not to say a word to mother about this, and
started for Portsmouth in the Pinafore, taking the first
train I could get for Boston. I had it in my mind to see
my good friend Judge Charles L. Woodbury. 1 found
him in his law office in the Merchant’s Bank Building,
on State Street. The Judge was glad to see me and gave
me close attention as I explained my trouble. After
I had given a careful description of my machines, he
said, “Come with me.” We went to the Public Library
and he called for books on French patents. The Judge
was a fine French scholar. Fie soon found something
that pleased him, and showed me sketches in the
French books of washing machines that embraced all
that I had done. We had dinner together at the Parker
House, in Boston, and then the Judge said that the
laundry company had really infringed on the French
patents, and added, “Don’t worry about this. You can
go home with the assurance that you will never hear
from this company again.” He said he would write
them a letter which he felt sure would change their
views on the situation. He was right; they hushed their
mouths. Judge Woodbury was always noted for his
kindness and consideration for young men, a rare and
heavenborn gift.

I remember another splendid gentleman, John
Ropes, who had traits like Judge Woodbury. He came
often to Appledore, always accompanied by young
people who looked up to him with love and respect. I
think Mr. Ropes was from Salem, Mass. In the old days

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NINETY YEARS

at Appledore many remarkable people came from
Salem: a fine gentleman named Richard Wheatland,
came when I was about twelve; also Nathaniel Haw¬
thorne, who was in the Salem Custom House the first
year that he came to our island; and Bowditch, who
wrote the great work on navigation, whose family had a
summer cottage at Appledore. The distinguished Derby
family, who made Salem famous with their ships on
every sea, came often to Appledore. When I was a lad,
eighty odd years ago, the shipping of Salem was leading
in importance in every port in the country.

The Season, at our New England Archipelago,
opened June 20th in 1874, with both hotels flying their
colors in the sweet summer breeze. The Oceanic boat
was a little faster than ours, but we were getting our
share of the business, and Appledore filled up early
with the families which came every summer. Sister
came in May and enlarged her flower garden exten¬
sively for more poppies. My brother and 1 were study¬
ing our business closely, always planning that one of us
should be in the office to give the people our best at¬
tention.

Cedric had grown up a fine fellow, six feet, straight
and handsome. He was a leader in all the amusements,
taking the prize cue at billiards. It was hopeless for me
to think of competing with him; still, everyone was nice
to me. There was one thing about my splendid brother
that still fills me with admiration,— if he saw that I
was interested in a girl, he would slay in the oilice,
that I might have a chance to devote myself to the
situation.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

There happened to be a girl at Appledore that
summer of whom I was very fond, and she would keep
coming to my desk and we would whisper together. One
day I said: “Will you sail with me?” She ran to ask her
mother, and was ready in a moment. We started from
the pier in one of the whale boats, the wind being
south, a good sailing breeze, and the water sparkling.
If there is anything more fascinating than the murmur
of water under the lee bow of a whale boat, close
hauled on the wind, I have yet to hear it. We sailed by
Square Rock, tacked ship, and stood over to White
Island, anchoring near the landing. The light-keeper
came over in a dory for us. My companion was greatly
interested in hearing of our early life at the lighthouse.
We went up in the tower, and the keeper wound the
weight and started the lantern revolving. My friend was
delighted, and wanted to stay longer, but I kept think¬
ing of Cedric, and, with a fair wind, we were soon home
again. When I entered the office, 1 found my brother
perfectly calm with seven girls hanging over the counter
talking to him. Cedric was ever a perfect wonder to me.
That evening my beloved and I went up to Sunset
Pavilion. I tell you life was worth living in those days.
I was up half the night writing these verses to my
sweetheart.

AT SUNSET

Come thou with me, dear love, and see the day
Die on the sea, and o’er the distant land,

This last faint glow of twilight fade away,

The while I hold in mine thy gentle hand.

The lessening light gleams on yon leaning sail;

Slowly the sun has sunk beyond the hill,

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NINETY YEARS

And sombre night in silence draws her veil
Over us two, and everything grows still,

Save when the tide, with constant ebb and flow
Of wandering waves that greet the steadfast shore

Flashes fair forms of foam that falling throw
Their arms of snow round rugged Appledore.

Faint, like a dream, comes the melodious cry
Of far-off wild fowl calling from the deep,

The rosy color leaves the western sky,

Over the waves are spread the wings of sleep.

Silent a meteor falls into the night

Sweeping its silver shower across the stars;

Low down Arcturus sinks with waning light,

Ffigh in the east climbs up the shining Mars.

And whispering by us with a silent kiss

Comes the sweet south wind o’er the slumbering sea.

Thou dearest, can such perfect joy as this

Be always mine, to drift through life with thee?

The season was proving excellent, and we were hope¬
ful of getting a good bit off our indebtedness to the
Portsmouth bank, having secured a wonderful chef and
baker, making our table unusually good. The vegetable
garden had been greatly enlarged, and half an acre of
Early Rose potatoes were planted in a valley towards
Sandpiper Cove. Just as we were about to commence
digging our potatoes, Brother Poor sent word to us
that, through some mistake, the Oceanic had no pota¬
toes for dinner, and it would be greatly appreciated if
we would allow the men he had sent to dig a few from
our garden, and that he would return them the moment
he got a supply from town. We were glad to do this,
and told the men to go ahead and dig. They were

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

certainly expert, for in a short time they secured a big
dory load,— more than half we had,— and got the
Pinafore to tow them back to Star Island. Brother Poor
must have forgotten the incident, as he never replaced
them. Col. Bailey was with us that season, and the
potato episode filled him with the keenest delight.
Another gentleman also enjoyed the joke. His name was
C. A. Richards, of Boston, and he was accompanied by
his wife and daughter. The last named gentleman was a
match for the Rev. John Weiss in fast and furious fun,
yet how different were the two men, — as, while the
handsome face of Mr. Weiss would sparkle with mirth
like radiant sunshine on the ripples oil' Appledore
Point, the homely face of Mr. Richards, however
ridiculous he might be, was always perfectly grave.
(The last-named gentleman was a prominent man in
Massachusetts, and President of the Metropolitan
Railroad.) One day little Ellie Dore had just rung the
dinner-bell and people were going into the dining hall,
while Mr. Richards was talking with some friends in
the office, among whom was Col. Bailey. Judge Clifford
of Maine, a large, powerful man, and a small man
named Sol Carter, came into the office. Instantly Mr.
Richards began to tell that Sol, when he arrived a week
before, was as big as Judge Clifford, and that the Judge
would dwindle down to the size of Sol after he had
dined at our hotel a week. There was some laughter, in
which my brother and I joined faintly, but Col. Bailey
screamed with delight. The Colonel was always like
that, and any joke about our table gave him great
pleasure, and that very day he came out from the

103

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NINETY TEARS

dining-room swearing that the cranberry sauce “was
full of sticks” and that he “could not get a second
helping of lobster”. Everyone knew his eccentricity, and
only laughed.

Summer’s delicious days were gone, and the people
were leaving the islands. On September 20th we closed
the Appledore Hotel and made things snug for the long
winter ahead, taking care of the six whale boats and
thirty row boats there. The Pinafore we kept afloat to
run to town. During the season we had heard that the
prices at the Oceanic were considerably more than ours,
yet I fear that the summer’s business was disappointing
at Star Island. That fall the splendid new Oceanic
Hotel, with all its costly equipment, and several of the
dwellings, burned to the ground. Mr. Poor, with
dauntless energy, commenced at once to build the
present Oceanic Hotel before the ashes of the first
building had cooled off. The new hotel, though not as
large, had a finer view than the first one, and in many
ways was more desirable, and it was rushed with a big
gang of men during the spring and was ready for the
opening in June.

Mr. Poor was never a hotel man, and he was un¬
fortunate in his managers. From the start, in 1848, we
had managed Appledore ourselves, ever trying to make
the people feel that they were in their own homes. It has
been said that the success of the great hotel man Statler
is due to his close study of the methods of the Laighton
family at Appledore! At the end of the summer of
1875, Mr. Poor came to us, offering to sell his holdings
at Star Island for what the island alone had cost him.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

It was very tempting, but we were hardly in a condition
to raise a hundred thousand dollars and mother and
Cedric were not in favor of the purchase, but most of
our friends thought we ought to secure the property,
arguing that the Archipelago was unique, nothing like
it from Eastport to Nantucket; that there would always
be a great summer business here, and if the Oceanic got
into bad hands something objectionable might be
started. I found that even the bank in Portsmouth (to
which we were still in debt) counselled our buying and
promised to help. Added to all this, our cousin Rymes
offered to go in with us. Everything looked so favorable,
I strongly urged my brother to consent to the deal,
which he finally did. In talking with our friends, no one
could suggest any possible event that might affect the
business of the Islands; yet, there was something way to
windward so dim that we had no suspicion of it, — like
the cloud no larger than a man’s hand that finally
grew to the size of a Chicago girl’s foot, obscuring the
whole heavens! Everything looked so propitious, we
bought the property, and were greatly pleased to hear
Mr. Poor say that in his adventure at the Islands we had
ever been the best friends he found. We had secured all
the Oceanic property, including the boats, with the
exception of the Steamer Major, which was in the hands
of the engineer, William Gerting. However, we had our
own steamer, which was large enough for both hotels.
There were also four whaleboats, fifteen row boats and
a couple of good-sized schooners.

We were fortunate in having Mr. Rymes associated
with us, he being a man of great ability and personal

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

charm. The Oceanic was opened in the year 1876 under
his management, he securing the services of a young
man named John Warden from the office of the Parker
House, in Boston, to take charge of the Oceanic office.
Col. John Warden proved to be a great acquisition,
having the name of being the best room clerk in the
country, having held that position at the Adams House
in Boston for fifty years. He was beloved by the many
thousands who knew him. The first year with both
hotels was very encouraging, the Oceanic making a
good showing; the Pinafore running constantly between
the islands, making a pleasant excursion for the visitors
at each hotel.

Appledore Island was next to Concord, in Massachu¬
setts, as a gathering-place for distinguished people.
Among those whom it was our great privilege to meet I
recall Hawthorne, Lowell, Whittier, Aldrich, Stedman,
Fields, Trowbridge, Beecher, Albee, R. B. Forbes, J. W.
Riley, and Dr. Lowell Mason (who wrote the hymns)
came often with his wife and splendid sons, William,
Henry and Lowell. I also recall Frances FI. Burnett
(who named her Little Lord Fauntleroy for my brother
Cedric), Elizabeth Whittier, Sarah Orne Jewett,
Harriet Beecher Stowe, Lucy Larcom, Harriet Prescott
Spofford, Annie Fields, Rose Lamb and Louise G.
Moulton. Among the famous painters who came to
Appledore were: — William Morris Hunt, DePlass, Ross
Turner, Childe Hassam, J. Appleton Brown, Olaf
Brauner, Gaugangigl, Warren Shepard, and many
others, all remarkable for their special gifts. DeHass was
famous for pictures of a breaking wave; Ross 'Turner for
his charming sketches of our boats; Childe Hassam for

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NINETY TEARS

magnificent pictures of the gorges and rocks at Apple¬
dore; Appleton Brown for exquisite pictures of moon¬
light on the water. William Morris Hunt was found
drowned at Appledore Island. Olaf Brauner is still
doing splendid work at the islands.

We were worried over our dear mother’s failing
health, and decided it was best to take her to Ports¬
mouth, where she could have medical attendance. We
secured the Trundy House on State Street, and moved
her to town. Sister was with her, and the two nice
Norwegian girls, Mina and Ovidia Bernsten, every¬
thing being done for our blessed mother, but she
steadily failed. We were all with her when at last her
beautiful spirit faded out of our lives forever. We
carried her back to Appledore and placed her in the lot
with father. Sister read the simple service, and Ed
Caswell, Mina and Ovidia Bernsten joined us in our
great sorrow beside the grave. That was fifty years ago.

As warmer days creep slowly up the stormy Atlantic
Coast, driving the bitter winter farther north, our
islands feel the arms of a warmer ocean close them
round, and the cluster shines like a sunburst of precious
gems set in the silver radiance of the sea. The waves
that thundered mountain-high against the iron shore
change to gentle ripples, and the far-off coast line is half
veiled in dreamy haze, and the thrush and sandpiper
are here, with ten thousand gulls screaming their plans
for the welcome summer vacation on Duck Island. Our
friend John T. Trowbridge wrote:

“O, softly on yon hanks of haze
Her rosy face the summer lays.'5 •

108

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

It was this year (1884), that Major A. W. Greely and
his crew of Arctic explorers were rescued from their
awful imprisonment in the ice in their efforts to reach
the North Pole, being brought to Portsmouth in the
Arctic steamer Bear . Major Greely came at once to
Appledore to find Mrs. Thaxter. He said to sister: “I
was so fortunate as to have your book of poems on my
ship, and I have come to thank you for myself and
crew for the pleasure and interest we found in your
verse. It tided over many weary hours of our terrible
solitude. My companions especially liked your poem
called ‘Tryst’, which I read to them again and
again.” The Major had dinner with us. That was
fifty years ago, but I remember him perfectly, a fine
looking man.

Our islands, far at sea, held unusual attraction for
visitors from the busy cities of the mainland. The
bracing air came over miles of water, pure and invigor¬
ating, and there was perfect quiet, except for the mur¬
mur of the ocean about the shore, or the darling shout
of the song sparrow. The most eminent physicians were
sending their patients here for rest and recuperation,
such noted specialists as Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, of
Philadelphia, having found Appledore most desirable
for nervous disorders, and Dr. Henry I. Bowditch, of
Boston, recommending it for pulmonary troubles.
Though our hotel accommodated five hundred guests,
we often found it difficult to take care of all who wanted
rooms. The remarkable people who came to us added
greatly to the charm of the place. Here gathered the
culture and talent of all New England, — but at this

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NINETY TEARS

time we did not realize the great privilege we were
enjoying in being associated with these wonderful
people.

The office at Appledore House was a spacious room,
over a hundred feet in length, finished in black walnut,
and really rather fine for that time, with its large plate
glass windows looking out on the children’s pond and
steamboat landing, and over the miles of water to the
distant coast of New Hampshire. The walls were
covered with good pictures, many of them painted by
the famous artists who came to the island every summer.
Every evening in this splendid room would assemble the
elite of all the world, it seemed to me,— beautiful
women in lovely attire, the Appledore band playing
delightfully, while the hum of conversation was like the
intermission in a big theatre.

Among the many artists of real talent who came to
Appledore every summer was Ellen Robbins, who was
remarkable for her exquisite painting of flowers. A
critic said of her pictures: “They bring the very odor
and atmosphere of spring into the room!” The gifted
artists, J. Appleton Brown and Childe Hassarn, were
good friends of Miss Robbins. They were known at the
hotel as “The Three Artists”, “All for One”, and “One
for All”. Though the best of comrades, they were ever
trying some joke on each other. Miss Robbins’s studio
was on the lower floor of the Thaxter Cottage, a room
well lighted, and had a stove by the fireplace. She had
just finished a fine picture of a bit of Mrs. Thaxter’s
garden, showing a group of Shirley poppies with a
background of splendid hollyhocks. The shading of

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

colors was marvellous, and the picture was greatly
admired. Ellen consulted with her two friends as to
what price she should set on it, saying, “Do you think I
could get fifty dollars?” They both said, “It is worth a
hundred”. The young men helped Ellen arrange her
pictures about the room to the best advantage. They
also managed to secrete a bottle of whiskey in the stove.
The sketches were all of the Thaxter garden, and every
one a gem of flower painting. The large picture of
poppies and hollyhocks leaned against the stove. While
they were still busy with the sketches, a gentleman and
two ladies came in. The gentleman was Mr. Bigelow,
who often came to Appledore, and who was very
popular. We heard that he manufactured half the
carpets made in the whole country. The picture of
poppies and hollyhocks leaning against the stove,
attracted his attention at once, and he asked Miss
Robbins the price. She hesitated a moment, as site met
the gaze of her two friends. Finally, she said modestly:
“I feel I ought to get seventy-five dollars for that one.”
Mr. Bigelow said at once that he would take the picture,
and handed Ellen the money. At this juncture, Apple-
ton Brown whispered audibly to her: “Say, Ellen, we
would like to give Mr. Bigelow a toast on his acquisition
of this splendid work of art, and beg you will let us have
some of the cordial you treated us to yesterday.” Ellen
looked her astonishment, as she replied, “Are you
crazy? I did not give you anything yesterday.” “O, yes
you did. We know where you keep it,” and he went to
the stove, threw the door open and pulled out a large
bottle of Old Crow Whiskey! There was a shout of

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NINETY TEARS

laughter in which Ellen could not help joining, though
she was a little provoked at the audacity of the joke.
These young men had studied art abroad, and from
their many years in Paris had gathered a bit of charm
and courtesy from the French people. They felt that
they had overstepped the border of nice behavior in
their clumsy attempt at fun with Ellen, and determined
to make handsome amends for their indiscretion, so
each one presented her with the very best picture he had
made that summer. Mr. Hassam’s picture was “The
Cliffs at the Southeast of Appledore”, with a breaking
wave dashing the spray among the rocks. This picture
was magnificent and matchless for its technique and
coloring. Mr. Brown’s painting was “A Moonlight
Scene from Mrs. Thaxter’s piazza, looking over the
sparkling water beyond Appledore Point.” This was
indeed a gem. The young gentlemen gave Ellen their
pictures entreating her acceptance and forgiveness, —
and I have heard that the dear woman cried and that
the young gentlemen kissed her. Mr. Bigelow had
bought another of Miss Robbins’ flower pictures, and
offered a small fortune for those painted by Hassam and
Brown, but she would not part with them. Mr. Bigelow
said, “I think you have the best of the joke the boys
attempted to play in your studio. Who laughs last
laughs best.”

Appleton Brown was a most lovable fellow, tall,
straight, handsome, modest, with the wit of Sheridan
and the bearing of a French ambassador. Women ad¬
mired him, and I would watch Appleton in the evening
surrounded by ladies listening with delight to his

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

sparkling conversation. Oh, I thought, if I coulcl only be
like that. Everyone longs for what he woefully lacks, or
the gifts he can never attain. Of course there were many
others with us whom I greatly admired for their quick
wit and spontaneous love of fun, and among those I

A Corner of Mrs. Thaxter’s Parlor

recall George Warder, Henry Winsor, Dr. William
Warren, my cousin Rymes, John Weiss, Uncle Ben
Morse, William Mason, and a host of others.

On the thirtieth of June, in the year 1879, I was on
the piazza of the hotel enjoying the delightful view,
with the shining water in front and the fleet of boats

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NINETY TEARS

dancing at their moorings. Flags were flying on the tall
staffs west of the hotel and at the steamboat landing and
bathing pond. It was indeed a gay and charming out¬
look. The hotel had been open for ten days, and already
there were a number of guests, the summer day seemed
full of promise, and yet I was feeling a bit tired and
downhearted.

The previous winter, with the aid of Edwin Caswell,
my righthand man, we had built a six-room cottage
with a large studio, well lighted, to the north, for the
artist Ross Turner. Cedric thought I had been working
too hard, but of course I knew what the trouble was, —
I had not fully recovered from my annual desperate love
affair of the summer before. When I was younger I had
always rallied before the enemy appeared the returning
summer, but this year there had been more delay in my
recovery. As I listened to the tumbling water pouring
soothingly over the dam of the bathing pond, it sud¬
denly occurred to me that this was my birthday; forty
years of age! Time to have a glimmer of common sense,
and I clenched my fists and became rigid, with a de¬
termination never to allow myself again to be overcome
with affection for any girl on earth. In my enthusiasm,
I sprang to rny feet with increasing vehemence. My
friend George Warder, who had been watching me for
some time, rushed up saying: “What forHeaven’s sakeails
you, Uncle Oscar, are you going crazy?” “Far from it,”
I replied, “I have just thought of something that pleases
me. Get your hat, George, and we will go for a sail.” The
summer was passing happily and promised to be my first
for many years free from unfortunate entanglements.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Dr. Weir Mitchell had sent us a family, a mother and
two daughters, one of them a helpless invalid. 1 felt so
sorry for the poor sick girl I did everything I could for
her comfort. Miss Bennett, the older sister, came to me
with a plan to have Annie taken out on the piazza roof,
which came even with the lower part of her window.
This was a flat tin roof. I immediately had the carpenter
make a glass door and hang it in place of the sash, with
a couple of steps leading to the level of the window sill.
When all was ready, I placed a comfortable chair on the
roof, and picking up Annie, carried her outside with
ease and composure. I was repaid a thousand times for
my efforts by Annie’s evident delight. I found that it
was important to rig up an awning to shelter her from
too much sun, which made it a regular sun parlor,
where Annie could be in the air and have the beautiful
view in front of the hotel, with the excitement of the
children rowing and sailing their boats about the pond.
Miss Bennett was a very attractive girl, and I greatly
admired her for her devotion to Annie, but ever kept a
firm hold on myself. One day I noticed a black bank of
clouds to the northwest, and, knowing well what was
coming, I hastened to Annie’s room and brought the
girl inside, furled the awning and secured the glass door,
which opened outward. When all was snug, I noticed
that there was a strange lady talking with Miss Bennett
and her mother. They were evidently astonished at my
hurry, and Mrs. Bennett said, “Do you expect a storm,
Mr. Laighton?” I explained the fury of a squall olf the
land, and even then the white wreath of mist, that
comes before the wind and rain, was passing over the

NINETY YEARS

island and the water that a moment before lay peace¬
fully in the sunlight was churned to white foam. It grew
dark, and torrents of rain dashed against the windows.
Poor Annie was afraid of the lightning and the crashing
thunder about us, and held my hand tight. The strange
girl had knelt down by Annie and taken her other hand,
and with infinite compassion was trying to sooth the
frightened girl. I forgot all about the storm as I watched
this lady and listened to the sweetness of her voice.
After this it was ever my greatest happiness to be with
this lovely stranger. One evening I had been away from
the office for sometime, and Cedric, not knowing the
situation, became worried, and sent one of the boys to
find me. This happened to be young J. Ben Hart, who,
with the intuition that in later years made him famous,
went at once to the “Lovers’ Corner”, just east of the
music room. He peered into the obscurity of our retreat
and yelled, “You are wanted in the office!” “Is that
you, Ben?” “Yes.” “Well, go to thunder!”

There was always great excitement on the arrival of
the boat from Portsmouth. She had just given twelve
blasts of her whistle and Col. Bailey had sung out,
“Put two buckets of water in the chowder today”,
when the boat swung gracefully alongside the landing.
The mail was tossed to a boy who rushed with it to the
office, where an effort was always made to get it sorted
before the passengers could reach the hotel. From long
practice we were generally able to do this. The guests
would gather around the long counter, which extended
fifty feet; the tier of letter boxes being to the left of the
guests. Cedric would call the mail, and if letters were

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

claimed by any of the waiting people, they were
handed over the counter. If not claimed, they were
passed to Miss Katherine Sweetser, who put them in
the proper box without a moment’s hesitation. It was
positively uncanny the way she remembered the
people and their room numbers. Hundreds of letters
were disposed of in a few minutes. The letter boxes
were arranged so that people could get their mail from
outside the counter. This was appreciated, but had one
drawback, — those who expected a letter, which never
came, would pull the letters out of other people’s boxes,
look them over carefully, and almost always put them
back in the wrong box, so we had to look out for that
kind of chap.

Alas, in the mail that day was a letter for my sweet¬
heart. I saw her reading it over by the office window, and
the look in her dear face filled me with alarm, sending a
new set of electrons in a mad rush through my heart.
She told me about it that evening, and let me read the
letter, which was from her mother. I remember read¬
ing, in a dazed state of mind, the words: “Beware of
entanglements at the Isles of Shoals. We have other
plans for you. Shall expect you home at once.” “Are you
going?” I asked. “Yes, I must. I dare not disobey my
parents.” Here was a state of things. Yet, I was not
altogether surprised, knowing how much she was above
me. We talked until late together in the north parlour
that evening. She planned to leave the next day by the
afternoon boat. I cannot write in this journal all that
happened. When she went to her room, I found that
she had left her shawl on the back of her chair; then I

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NINETY TEARS

went to my desk in the office and wrote this verse, which
I folded in the garment and replaced on the chair
where I found it: —

HER SHAWL

Dearest, where art thou? In the silent room
I find this wonder of some foreign loom.

Thy silken shawl, whose lines of loveliness
The matchless beauty of thy form caress.

Delicate raiment, shall I dare enfold

All these warm kisses mid thy threads of gold?

Oh, hold them close her icy heart above,

Melting its winter into summer’s love!

Beneath her coldness fonder still I grow.

As violets bloom along the edge of snow.

Through my sad heart there drifts a hope divine,

O’er seas storm-swept shall softer mornings shine;

So love may dawn for me while at thy feet
I wait, and kiss thy garment’s hem, my sweet.

Next morning after breakfast I went up to see if I
might help Annie. I found all the family in the room,
and my beautiful friend with them. She took my hand
and thanked me for my poem, whispering that she
would write to me. I think the Bennetts must have
known about my love for this girl, for they were very
sweet to me. There were tears in the dear old mother’s
eyes as she embraced and kissed me. uMr. Laighton,”
she said, “we feel so happy Annie is getting well. See,
there is color in her face, and this morning she stood up
alone for the first time in six 'months. We want to tell you
how grateful we are for all you have done for her.”
It was I who ought to have thanked her for the pleasure
it had given me to be of some help to the dear girl.
There were many more things which happened in the

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Bennetts’ room, but I fear I am saying too much about
myself. Heaven knows I am the last one to be put on the
front page, but I am trying to jot down truthfully in my
journal the events as I remember them after fifty years.

One morning in September, on going to Annie’s
room, I found her already on the roof. She had managed
it alone and was so happy and affectionate that I felt a
great joy in her recovery, and new electrons were storm¬
ing the doorway of my heart. In July we had brought
Annie from the steamer to her room on a cot bed;
when the Bennetts left Appledore, the ioth of Sep¬
tember, gentle Annie walked proudly down to the boat
herself, after she had managed to tear herself out of my
arms. Annie went home well, but I was feeling under
the weather. The house closed on the 20th of September,
and by that time my courage was at a low ebb. My
good friend, Mr. Bowditch, had noticed that I was pale
and far from well, and he urged me to arrange to spend
the winter abroad. '‘Take your sister with you and
start at once, and stay over there until next May.”
Cedric thought it a wise thing to do and that with the
aid of Ed Caswell and Lucy they could hold Appledore
down till I got back. Sister consented to go with me,
and on the first of October we secured tickets for Liver¬
pool on the Steamship Batavia, Captain Moorland. Mr.
Bowditch helped us to get our passports and went with
us to Kidder, Peabody & Co. for our letters of credit.
Lie looked over the modest sum I was able to place
toward our expenses and immediately had die company
double the amount, saying: “You had better have
enough. If you do not use it you can hand it back to

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NINETY YEARS

me.55 Our good friend, J. Ingersoll Bowditch, was the
son of the famous Nathaniel Bowditch, who wrote the
great work on Navigation, used on every ship the world
over. His son inherited his knowledge of the higher
mathematics and helped his father in calculating the
tables used in getting the longitude at sea. I have heard
that when the news of the death of Nathaniel Bowditch
reached the maritime nations of the earth, the flags on
every ship were hoisted at half-mast, for all countries
carried his “Navigator”. A greater honor than this no
man ever had. Mr. Ingersoll Bowditch was known far
and wide for his benevolence and friendly interest in the
fortunes of young men, and many in Massachusetts
remember his kindness in their youth with gratitude.

All aboard the good ship Batavia, bound for the
rising sun! The day was beautiful, with a gentle breeze
to the westward. I was wondering if we should find
anything across the water more delightful than Boston
Harbor seemed that day; as the Batavia slowly pulled
out of her berth at the East Boston dock and swung her
nose down stream some one called to me from the pier,
waving a shawl, — it was my last girl. “Stop the ship!”
I cried, too late. “Goodbye, sweetheart!” My sister
tried to calm me as I was about to spring over the
taffrail in my intense excitement.

I remember it seemed strange that I had heard no
word of command as the big ship got underway. There
was only the chirp of the Bos’un’s whistle. Here was our
first lesson in British seamanship, than which nothing
finer is found on the seven seas. There were only about
fifty first-class passengers on board, and two hundred in

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

the steerage. We found that Mr. Bowditch had sent a
couple of steamer chairs to the ship tagged with our
names, and these we carried aft and watched the re¬
ceding shore, with the outline of Cape Cod showing-
faint to starboard.

Here was the adventure of our lives! 1 thought sister
seemed downhearted, but I found that she was in a bit
of worry about me, for she said: “Now, Oscar, you are
not well and must try and compose yourself, — and, for
Heaven’s sake, don’t let any girl upset you again!” Just
then Captain Moorland came up and introduced him¬
self, saying that Mr. Bowditch had asked him to take
good care of us on the voyage, and that he would be
happy to help us in any way he could. He told us that
Mr. Bowditch had crossed with him on several trips,
and he thought him a line man. The coast line had
disappeared as Captain Moorland called us to lunch.
We were given seats at table near him and were aston¬
ished at the excellence of the fare. I asked the captain
if his ship would pass near Cash’s Ledge. “No”, he
replied, “we leave that far to port; nothing in sight till
we make Fastnet Light on the coast of Ireland.”
Cash’s Ledge is about sixty miles east of Appledore, and
nearly a hundred miles east northeast from Boston. It
breaks solid in a storm, and ships have been lost on it.

When we went to our staterooms we each found a
package from Mr. Bowditch, containing a warm woolen
rug like a large shawl. We found that these added to our
comfort during the voyage and on the continent. Mr.
Bowditch had also sent us Letters of Introduction to
people in London, which were a great help to us later.

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NINETY TEARS

At dinner that evening I counted fifty-eight at table.
Sister got in conversation with a lady seated on her left,
who said she was returning with her daughter to Eng¬
land. They had been in Boston with friends all summer.
The daughter seemed a nice, demure young person.
Sister said, “This is my brother; we are making our
first trip abroad, and we are rather excited at the
prospect. ” “Naturally”, the lady said. “I noticed as
we were leaving Boston that your brother seemed very
much excited when a lady waved her shawl from the
pier. We heard him cry out, ‘Stop the ship’. Was he
leaving his sweetheart behind?” Sister said, “Yes, one
of them.” I think I colored up a little as I caught the
daughter looking at me with her demure English smile.
The mother said, “That was indeed a great compliment
to a girl to have a man lose his head so completely.”
With alarm, I heard sister reply: “Yes, if she were the
only one.” Captain Moorland noticed my embarrass¬
ment and came to my rescue, saying, “I am much
older than Mr. Laighton, but if a young lady had
rushed like a cyclone through the crowd on the pier and
waved her shawl at me with such a gesture of dispair, I
should have stopped my ship and returned, or jumped
overboard, or something!” Here was a man after my
own heart. I grabbed his hand, as I said, “Do you really
think the young lady seemed in earnest, Captain?”
“Yes, absolutely, — as you Yankees would say, earnestness
was her middle name.” This ought to have brought me
some comfort, but it had the opposite effect. To think
that dear girl should really care, and that fate was
putting miles and miles between us, filled my heart with

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

anguish. There are moments in a man’s life when
intense sorrow paralyzes his faculties, and grief falls
like a stone in the well of his heart and dashes the
water to his eyes. That is what happened to me.
Sister took my hand, and the English ladies were
sympathetic.

Later on I heard the captain say, “We will be lucky
if we do not run into fog on the Grand Banks before
morning.” Sure enough, I heard the blasts of the steam
whistle during the night, and felt that the ship was
pitching a bit with a head sea. I turned out the moment
it was light and got on deck, to find a dense fog and
fresh breeze from the northeast. Captain Moorland and
the first officer were on the bridge and men on the look¬
out forward. I knew we must be near the southern edge
of the Grand Banks, where there was danger of meeting
fishing vessels at anchor. Sister was soon with me, and
we got under the lee of the smokestack, where Captain
Moorland found us. He said that the barometer was
falling, indicating more wind. His only worry was the
chance of running foul of a fisherman in the blanket of
fog. By noon there was a stiff breeze, with spray flying-
over the weather bow of our big ship. Sister and I found
a sheltered place on the starboard side, where we were
comfortable, wrapped up in our blanket shawls. The
fog was so thick that we could hardly see the tumbling
water alongside. Our English friends did not appear
that day, and there were few of the passengers at dinner,
when we found plate guards had been fastened to the
dining tables to keep the dishes from sliding into our
laps. Sister and I enjoyed the fun of the adventure. I

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NINETY TEARS

heard the fog whistle until about midnight, when it
stopped and I went fast asleep.

The sun was shining as I climbed on deck the next
morning. O, how beautiful it was across the sparkling
water! The wind was going down and the morning full
of promise! Though there was still a heavy sea running,
the waves did not break and the old Batavia was
reaching out for Fastnet Light, off the coast of Ireland,
with the speed of a greyhound.

Our English friends joined us at breakfast. The
mother said that though they had crossed several times
she was always ill with the roll of the ship in rough
weather. She introduced herself as Mrs. Rathbon. The
daughter’s name was Emily. When we got on deck
again we saw a sail dead ahead, about four miles away.
The vessel was square-rigged on the foremast. Captain
Moorland said it probably was a Portuguese fisherman
bound home from the Grand Banks. We soon came up
with her, passing close enough to read her name,
“Vasco da Gama\ Lisbon. Men were on the yards
shaking out the reefs in the fore topsail, and she was
deep with salt fish.

At noon Captain Moorland and the first officer took
an observation for their latitude. The captain saw that I
was interested and the moment he had secured the
sun’s altitude, he moved the arm of his sextant and
handed the instrument to me, saying, “Now see if you
can get it.” I was crazy to try, as I had a sextant at
Applcdore and had worked the latitude of the islands
fairly well. I saw that the captain had swung the arm of
the sextant, so I had to make a new effort for altitude,
which I did, and clamped the index bar. Then 1 made

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

the correction for declination, zenith distance, semi¬
diameter, refraction and height of eye. I handed my
figures to the captain, who said: “First rate, my boy,
only you have made our position thirty miles too far
north. You did not allow enough for height of eye.
Have you ever worked the longitude?” I told him I had
often tried at home, but not very successfully. He told
me he had a spare sextant and would make a navigator
of me before we made Fastnet Light. He said, “We
don’t worry about the longitude, as we keep that by
dead reckoning, though I took an observation for that
this morning at eight o’clock, when the sun apparently
is rising fastest in the heavens.”

With my sister and her friends, I watched the crew
being served with their grog, which was ladled out in a
tin dipper to each man. If the dipper was not chock
full, there were hard feelings. The men would down the
fiery stuff without the quiver of an eyelid. The captain
said that it was double-proof Jamaica rum. He told us a
story of an English ship being chased by pirates in the
West Indies. There was great excitement on the English
ship, getting their one cannon in position and loaded to
the muzzle, and every weapon they could master ready
for action. During the uproar on deck, an old sailor
came out of the forecastle and sang out: “What in
thunder is all the fuss about?” One of his mates told
him that they were being diased by a pirate, to which
he replied: “O hell! Is that all, I feared they were
planning to stop our grog!”

Captain Moorland and I became close friends. He
let me take his spare sextant and 1 was ever trying to
find the position of the ship. Our position north and

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NINETY YEARS

south was easy to get by a meridian observation at
noon, but finding the position east and west, or the
longitude, was a more difficult problem, calling for the
Bowditch tables and different calculations. The point
was to get the exact time by these observations and com¬
pare it with the Greenwich time by our chronometer at
the same moment, the difference in the times gave the
longitude. Being encouraged by the captain, I was able,
after a while, to get the time at the ship pretty close. I
was proud, indeed, one morning when my figures
came out correct and the captain said that he would
get me a berth on a Cunarder if I would like to ship.

Sister was enjoying every minute of our voyage. We
would stay on deck late every star-lit night, watching
the never ending wonder of the heavens. The constella¬
tions were rising earlier every evening as we sped east¬
ward. In the early evenings we were sailing toward
Perseus, Andromeda and Pegasus. In Andromeda, we
made out the great Nebula, and in Perseus saw the star
Algol change in brightness as its dark companion came
between us and the star. Away to the northeast gleamed
the splendid white star Capella. Straight ahead the
Pleiades came up out of the sea, “glowing like a swarm
of fireflies tangled in a silver braid.” Vega and Altair
were low in the west, and Antares had disappeared over
the rim of the world in the southwest.

There came an evening when Captain Moorland told
us to look sharp over the port bow for Fastnet Light!
Mrs. Rathbon and daughter were with us, as well as a
number of the passengers. Suddenly, low down, far off
to the left, we made out the faint welcome glow of the

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

light on the west coast of Ireland. I found myself
strangely excited. Emily Rathbone was near me and in
the darkness I found her hand and clasped it tight. I
did not realize what I was doing. She whispered, “Are
you glad your voyage is nearly at an end, Mr. Laigh-
ton?” “Far from it, dear girl, if I still might be sailing
with you.” “O, Mr. Laighton, I have wanted to tell
you, all these days, how sorry I have been that you
were forced to leave your sweetheart in Boston.” “Why,
you blessed girl, that is perfectly divine of you!” For¬
getting Fastnet Light and all the rest of the world, I put
my arms around her and pressed my lips against the
velvet of her cheek. Did I dream that she returned my
embrace and whispered “Good Night”? As conscious¬
ness returned, I heard her mother call, “Emily, where
are you?”

Next morning sister was knocking at my state-room
door before sunrise, and we rushed on deck to find our
ship near enough to the coast of Ireland to make out
the whitewashed stone houses near the shore, and the
strange rig of the fishing boats just starting out to the
fishing grounds. The sun rose proudly over this lovely
Ireland, flooding sea and land in rosy splendor. Gapt.
Moorland joined us and pointed out “Knock-me-
down” Mountain, far inland. We had never heard of
this magnificent mountain, but we were to find that
there were many wonderful sights not mentioned in the
guide books. Reluctantly we left the charming scene to
go down to breakfast.

Emily and her mother were already at table. Emily
looked at me with such a demure, pathetic, entrancing

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NINETY TEARS

expression, it was with great difficulty I controlled the
intense desire to hold her again in my arms. Heavens!
What is in store for me if all English girls are so be¬
wildering? I tried to get the blessed girl to go with me
on deck, and she rose to do so, but her mother held her
back, saying “We will join you shortly, Mr. Laighton.”
From the look in Emily’s sweet brown eyes, I feared
Mrs. Rathbon was making the mistake of her life. I was
to learn later of the vast difference in the methods of
educating girls abroad, it almost seeming as if they
were restrained from every natural impulse. Is all this
for the best? That is hard to tell. I only know that I
found the girls of England perfectly delightful.

About ten o’clock that morning, we entered Queens¬
town Harbor, where most of the steerage passengers
disembarked, bound for Cork, Dublin, or Tipperary.
At noon, the Batavia was on her way to where England
felt the arms of ocean close her round, like a protecting
garment edged with lace-like foam!

At dinner that evening there was some excitement at
our near approach to the Mother Country. The captain
told us we would reach Eiverpool the next morning.
Some speeches were made about England. I remember
a pale young man rose from table and lifted his hand.
A lock of his jet black hair swept the marble of his
noble forehead. “Friends”, he said, “we are approach¬
ing the Mother Country. I cling to the hope that no
feeling of hatred may be lurking in the breasts of any
voyager from America tonight. Let us bring, with the
warm rush of water sweeping ever onward from
America in the Gulf Stream to save England from the

128

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

cold of Labrador, I say, let every man bring a warm
heart and kind wish to this dear England!” All but one
of the company jumped to his feet and were loud in
their applause. We found that the man who did not
cheer was from Chicago, and, of course, we made all
possible excuses for him. When it was quiet again, Cap¬
tain Moorland rose and said: “I want to thank this
young American for his kind words about my beloved
country. I have sailed with many thousands between
our two English speaking nations, but no event has ever
fdled my heart with greater pleasure than the senti¬
ments so beautifully expressed by the distinguished
young gentleman who has just spoken.” There were
smiles and cheers for the captain, as he resumed his
chair. He whispered to me to get up and say something.
“Heavens, Captain, I have nothing to tell these people!”
“All right, you lubber, get up and say that,” and he
pulled me upon my feet, saying, “I beg to introduce Mr.
Laighton from America, who has consented to give a
few words tonight.” My sister and the English ladies
were smiling encouragement, and the captain looked so
merry, I decided not to faint, but reaching out my right
hand as I had seen the pale-faced orator do, I began:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to be with this
distinguished gathering tonight. It has been a great
happiness and privilege for my sister and myself to be
associated with you dear people on our voyage in this
good ship, so splendidly navigated by our beloved
Captain. We are speeding toward England, that
precious gem set in a silver sea! This jewel, flashing the
radiance of every magnificent achievement to all the

. i ;r y* i <!

NINETY TEARS

world! England the superb! Standing, as ever, ‘Tip toe
on the misty mountain tops5 of the highest attainments
in literature and culture. We greet thee, brave and
splendid England, with no shred of bitterness in our
hearts, only love and admiration!” In some confusion
I found my chair, but was immediately pulled out of it
by the Captain, who slapped me on the back, saying,
“Good for you, Laighton!” I was astonished to see tears
in the eyes of Mrs. Rathbon, as she thanked me for
my tribute to her beloved country. The gentleman from
Chicago had disappeared.

Next morning we were all on deck as the Batavia
entered the Mersey and steamed up to Liverpool. Mrs.
Rathbon, who had been a bit conservative on the ship,
kissed us good-bye and invited us to call on her in
London. 1 declare she only smiled when I put my arms
around Emily, and the dear girl whispered that I must
surely find her in London, as she had something to tell
me. I forgot that I was not at Appledore, and clung to
Emily till her mother said, “Mr. Laighton, you must
really let her go, or we will miss our train.” Was it ever
to be my fortune, even across the trackless ocean, to
have my beloved ones dragged out of my arms by their
mothers? What little sense I had slowly returned when
Captain Moorland grabbed me, saying: “Wake up,
Laighton, it is time to take another observation for
longitude!” Sister and I parted with our jolly captain
with real sorrow, and made plans to return to Boston on
the Batavia in the spring.

We had dinner with the pale young orator at the
Adelphi Hotel. He advised us to visit the walled town

130

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

of Chester on our way to London. Chester is only a few
miles from Liverpool, and we found it very interesting,
the hrst walled city we had ever seen. I remember a
stone bridge of one splendid arch across the River
Dee. We were one night in Chester, leaving next
morning for Stratford-on-Avon, which we reached that
evening.

We put up at the Red Horse Inn, where we were
delighted to find Washington Irving's chair, marked
with a silver plate. Next morning, we were up betimes,
to learn what we could about the most remarkable man
of all the famous men of England. The applause, the
delight, the wonder of the world, whose soaring verse
still stands unrivalled by centuries of effort.

An old gentleman staying at our inn joined us, lead¬
ing us to where “Softly along its leafy banks the Avon
River flows.” Our elderly friend said that he had been
in Stratford for several days. He led us at once to the
church, and the grave of Shakespeare, with the portrait
and warning lines above. As we stood there my sister
said, “Since the dawn of literature no one has ever
written with the power and enchantment of Shakes¬
peare. His verse still comes to us like the sweet south
wind o'er a bank of violets, filling our hearts with ad¬
miration and delight.” “Yes”, said the old gentleman,
“but what has England done to show her appreciation
of this transcendent genius? Here is his grave. What else
is there in all England to show us pilgrims who journey
across the world to do him honor? There should be a
monument that would shade Saint Paul’s, or dwarf the
shaft at Trafalgar Square.”

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NINETY YEARS

“All,5 5 Sister replied, “you would have England dis¬
play her admiration on her sleeve! Shakespeare’s work
will ever be her greatest monument. His words will live
when even the name of Nelson is lost in the mists of the
coming centuries.” Our old friend was trembling as he
said, “Shall a mother neglect her gifted son? Would
that be possible in your country?” The old man was
getting excited, and we gently led him out to show us
the birth-place. We were met at Shakespeare’s house by
the lady in charge, and, though it is nearly fifty years
ago, I still recall this remarkable woman, — dressed
entirely in black, her hair in a knot at the back of her
head secured by a high back comb, she looked superb.
Though her dress might seem a bit funereal, the ego, or
what was inside it, was full of life and vitality. The
River Avon at ebbtide never flowed faster than her
stream of conversation. She rushed us through the
house with such speed that to this day I cannot recall
which is Ann Hathaway’s room. It was when we
reached the apartment in which reposed the great
poet’s favorite chair, that all the dramatic ability of
this remarkable woman was brought into the field.
She waved her permission for us to sit down in Shake¬
speare’s chair with the grace of an empress. The old
gentleman was the first to take the seat, and we had
some difficulty in getting him to abandon it. When my
turn came, I hesitated a moment, then the lady in
charge pushed me in, saying, “Remember, neglected
opportunities are always regretted.” I arose as quickly
as possible, murmuring, “Alas, poor Will!” As we were
leaving, I handed our guide a sovereign. She said,

132

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

“My dear Sir, you are too generous; I ought not to
take it.” “But”, I said, “you’d better, neglected op¬
portunities are always regretted, you know.” She said
goodbye to us with a grace and flourish that would
have done credit to Madame La Pompadour. We left
our old friend at the Red Horse Inn writing a petition
to the Queen. He wanted us to read it, but we had only
time to take our train to London.

Our train was rushing through the beautiful country
of England, with its tidy farms and villages, and big
manufacturing cities. Suddenly we pulled into a great
station, and were in London. Mr. Bowditch had given
us a letter to his friend, Mr. Yardley, on Albany Street,
who made us welcome and very comfortable.

After breakfast next day, I told sister I was going to
find Emily, but she said at once that I should do noth¬
ing of the kind; that our time was limited in London,
and there was so much to see, not a moment was to be
wasted in any foolishness about girls. I had been
thinking of Emily ever since we parted in Liverpool,
but felt that sister was right and joined her in a visit to
the National Gallery. This gallery cannot compare
with the Louvre, though it has some magnificent pic¬
tures. We found the great works of Turner and other
famous artists of England, and in one of the rooms was a
fine portrait of Hawthorne. A- gentleman, who, with a
lady, was looking at the portrait, whispered that
Hawthorne was the greatest of American writers,
adding that his work was weird, classical, poetic and of
peculiar charm, universally admired in England. At
the Gallery we met a couple of Appledore friends, the

133

MJ\E7 T TEARS

Rev. George H. Hepworth and wife, of New York. We
had dinner together and visited Westminster Abbey and
Saint Paul’s. The Hepworths were taking a trip to
Egypt and the Nile, and urged us to join them; but
sister’s dearest wish was to see the famous pictures of the
Old Masters in Paris, Rome, Florence, Venice and
Vienna, and we decided to follow our journey with that
plan in view. As we parted, George whispered to me,
“Oscar, have you a dress suit? If not, you had better
get one, or you won’t be allowed to attend the opera in
Paris. I know, for I tried it!”

We were getting acquainted about London, hailing
cabs and four-wheelers with perfect assurance. There
was another craft we had never seen on the streets
of Boston. The skipper sits aft on the hurricane
deck, with the main and jib sheets leading up to him;
the passengers are carried in the companion way
amidships.

One morning at breakfast, our landlord, Mr. Yardley,
was asking us what we had seen in the big city. We told
him the Houses of Parliament, Plorse Guards, Nelson’s
Monument, Mincing Lane, The Tower, Billingsgate,
and there was another famous place we were anxious to
find called Bloomsbury. Mr. Yardley seemed to enjoy
our itinerary, laughing heartily about Bloomsbury,
which, he said, was only a residential section. He also
told us about the Waxworks and several things im¬
portant to see. I wanted to visit Greenwich and stand
where begins the first meridian of longitude for all the
world. Seventy degrees and thirty-seven minutes west
of Greenwich is the Island of Appleclore!

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Annie Fields had given sister a letter to Robert
Browning, and she had been invited to visit him. She
was to be gone all day, and begged me not to try to find
Emily, “Go out to Greenwich and see if they have the
longitude correct.” Mr. Bowditch had given me a letter
to Mr. Gilleg, at the American Exchange, so hailing a
cab in my best manner, I went to find him. He was at
the Exchange and made me welcome on reading Mr.
Bowditch’s letter. I told him my sister and I were
planning to spend the winter on the continent. “Now”,
he said, “if you are to be moving about visiting different
places, I would advise you to secure a good courier.
It would save you no end of trouble and vexation.”
“Yes, but where can I find a good man?” Mr. Gilleg
said he knew a first rate courier by the name of Karl
Weiser, a man about fifty, and speaking English,
French, German and Italian. Karl was in Paris, on the
way back to England, with a party of Americans he had
been travelling with- through the summer. Mr. Gilleg
said he would write and try to secure him, if I desired.
Knowing how incapable I was about navigating on the
mainland, I decided to have a courier, and begged Mr.
Gilleg to get Karl if possible. I was to call in a couple of
days, when he hoped to have news for me.

When I left the Exchange, it occurred to me that if I
was to have a dress suit made for the opera in Paris it
must be ordered at once. George Hepworth had given
me the address of a tailor on Oxford Street who had
made a suit for him. 1 found the place and the most
delightful tailor it was ever my fortune to meet. He
knew at once that I was from America, and made me

NINETY TEARS

welcome to England, talking charmingly while he got
my ascension and declination, promising the suit for
the coming week. It was half past two as I left the tailor
shop. Should I hail a four-wheeler and drive to Leicester
Square and see Emily? I was strongly tempted to do
this, but knew sister would not approve. I had ever
found her the more sensible of the two, and I let cabs
and four-wheelers go by, as I reluctantly gave up hope
of ever seeing Emily again, and found my way on foot to
Mr. Yardley’ s house.

Sister was not expected back until six o’clock. I went
to my room and wrote a long letter to my brother
Cedric. 1 had never been separated from him before,
and I was missing him. I believe I should have started
back to Appledore had it not been for sister, who
seemed so delighted with our journey. She was back
from her visit in time for dinner at the Yardleys’. Mr.
Yardley enjoyed everything that happened to us, and
when I told at dinner about my remarkable tailor and
the dress-suit for my debut in Paris, he laughed heartily.

Sister told us she had had a very pleasant visit with
Robert Browning, who had heard of Mr. Thaxter’s
interest in his verse and of his reading from his works
in public. He' secured Mr. Thaxter’s address, saying
that he would like to write to this friend across the
water. Sister also had lunch with this great poet, who
begged her to call on him when she returned to Eng¬
land.

Mr. Yardley had a fine house on Albany Street,
where he lived with his wile and four grown-up children.
He was in business in the city and well off', only taking

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TILE ISLES OF SHOALS

us in because we were friends of Mr. Bowditch, and we
became very fond of him. He took great delight in
talking with my sister, and she told him about the old
man we met at the Red Horse Inn and our adventure
with the remarkable lady in charge of Shakespeare’s
house. This seemed to please him exceedingly. We had
often heard that the English people were not much
given to laughter, but Mr. Yardley was surely built on
different lines and seemed to get some fun out of
everything. Sister told him about the distinguished
Boston lady who was driving home from the theatre
one winter evening when the snow was deep in the
streets. As the carriage reached her house, she called to
the driver to get nearer to the curb. Getting no answer,
she called again, saying, “Drive up nearer the sidewalk.
I am Mrs. Richard Wheatland Derby.” The man re¬
plied, “I can’t help that, Mann; if you were Mrs. John
Quincy Adams I couldn’t get any nearer.” Mr. Yardley
laughed heartily. Ele seemed to enjoy all our adven¬
tures so much we were tempted to think up things to
amuse him. One evening sister told him we had nearly
seen Queen Victoria that day, — she had a moment
before passed in her carriage, and we saw the impress of
the wheels very distinctly!

As sister and I entered the British Museum one
afternoon, an attendant, in a very excited manner,
informed us we had just missed seeing the Prince of
Wales, who only that moment had departed. We
expressed our sorrow, but hoped that we still might
find something of interest left in the great museum, and
inquired, “You yet have the Elgin marbles and Rosetta

137

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NINETY TEARS

Stone, have you not?” 'Whoever said an Englishman
cannot assimilate a joke was wrong, as our attendant
smiled and gave us the glad hand, and showed us the
cream of the museum. Heavens! What a magnificent
collection! Nothing in America to compare with it, we
told our delighted attendant, as I put a couple of
shillings into his hand, whispering the hope that when
the Prince again visited the museum he would convey
to His Highness the extreme sorrow of two voyagers
from far off America, that they were so unfortunate as
to miss seeing him. Our smiling friend promised to
do so.

While sister and the Yardley girls were out shopping
the next day, I called at the American Exchange and
found Karl Weiser there. Mr. Gilleg introduced us. I
liked his appearance at once, and soon made a bargain
with him to go with us. He was to call at Mr. Yardley’s
house that evening, when we would decide on the day
for leaving. I had not said a word to sister about
getting a courier. For one thing, I had not been sure of
Karl, and then I did not know that she would approve.
At dinner that evening I told her what I had done, and
was glad indeed to hear Mr. Yardley say it was a wise
thing to do. There was a twinkle in his eye as he said,
“You two are hardly drilled to fight Custom House
officers, hotels, baggage smashers, beggars and other
bandits. If you have secured a good man, I congratulate
you.” Mrs. Yardley said, “Of course it all depends on
the man”, and asked me to describe poor Karl. 1 told
her he was to call that evening and hoped they would
all look him over carefully. When Karl arrived, we all

138

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

adjourned to look our guide over. Karl had a pleasing
manner, and told us he had been conducting parties
abroad for twenty years and felt that he could handle
any situation that might arise in foreign countries. I
was glad to see that sister seemed to approve of him. Mr.
Yardley asked him if he kept an accurate account of all
expenses, to be handed to his party every week, or as
often as demanded. This Karl said he did. Everything
being satisfactory, we made arrangements with Karl to
come for us in a couple of days. I went to our bankers,
Baring Brothers, next morning and secured some
money in English pounds. Then I rushed to my Oxford
Street tailor to see about my dress-suit, which he
promised to send me surely that evening.

Sister and I made the most of our last afternoon in
the big city, visiting the places made so familiar by the
books of Dickens: — Eleet Street, Pall Mall, The Strand,
Mincing Lane, and many other famous places. We had
another good look at the Horse Guards, and I still
think that they are made of wood, as there was not the
flicker of an eyelash when I winked at them. That
evening, at dinner, Mr. Yardley produced a letter he
had just received from Mr. Bowditch, asking about us.
H e wrote that he had not heard a word except that just
as the Batavia was pulling away from the wharf in
Boston a young lady, waving a shawl, rushed through
the crowd calling “Mr. Laightoil”; that Oscar screamed
“Stop the ship”, and attempted to jump overboard and
was only saved by the quickness of his sister. He went
on to say that he had been surprised at this, for Mr.
Laighton had always seemed normal except for some

139

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NINETY TEARS

love affairs of an innocent nature at Appledore. The
Yardley girls asked sister if the incident were a fact.
Sister said it was perfectly true. I tried to excuse myself
by saying that Captain Moorland told me that he would
have acted in the same way if such a girl had waved her
shawl at him. Mr. Yardley said, “Perfectly proper. No
man has any right to be normal, or have a spark of
common sense, if he is in love.55 Mrs. Yardley said,
“But he would surely have been drowned!' 5 “Yes, yes,
very likely,” said Mr. Yardley, “but that did not occur
to him.” I looked at our distinguished host with positive
admiration. PI ere was a magnificent representative of
the fine old English gentleman, a man whose heart was
full of charity for the “Long, long thoughts of youth.”
He said to sister, “1 would like to write to Mr. Bowditch
and give him some account of your voyage, if you will
give me some idea of what happened to you.” Sister
began at once and made a good story of the trip. When
she told of seeing Fastnet Light in the dark of the
evening, she said, “Mrs. Rathbon and I were talking to
the Captain. My brother kept near Miss Rathbon, and
I could hear them talking earnestly together. I am not
sure that they saw the light, but I am confident
that they kissed each other several times.” If the
Yardley girls had not seemed so interested, I should
have protested. I was glad to hear Mr. Yardley say:
“Perfectly proper, neglected opportunities are always
regretted.” After dinner I tried to settle with Mr.
Yardley for our entertainment, but he would not take a
penny. He said that he would miss us, and he hoped we
would visit him again on our return to England. He

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THE ISLES OE SHOALS

said that he had found sister the most delightful woman
he had ever talked with.

The British Isles would be a land of ice and glaciers
were it not for the warm current of the Gulf Stream that
ever- thoughtful America is speeding, day and night,
thousands of miles, to save the Mother Country. Where
the stream strikes the coast of Ireland the grass grows
green the year round.

It was the tenth of November, yet the day was
beautiful that found Karl Weiser at Mr. Yardley’s door
in a four-wheeler, sharp after breakfast. All the family
came out on the sidewalk to see us off. Mr. Yardley
whispered to me to take good care of Mrs. Thaxter and
make her write to him. A number of pedestrians luffed
up with friendly interest and there was a bobby stand¬
ing on the curb with smiling face, as Mrs. Yardley and
the girls kissed us good-bye. The cabby cracked his
whip; our craft gave a sudden lurch to port, and we were
off. The bobby waved his billy and all hands wished us
bon voyage on our trip from Folkestone to Boulogne
across the Channel.

I had planned to write our adventures on the Con¬
tinent, but I find that there is not room in this modest
journal. I will tell in another volume of our Christmas
dinner with Mary Cowden Clark, in Genoa, of the
wonderful pictures we saw and my escapade in that
infernal dress suit. I must also defer telling about the
lady, like a creation of Tintoretto, I met in Venice, and
another one at Nice, as well as of our coming to the
rescue of a young wife whose husband, losing his
fortune at the gaming tables in Monaco, had shot

1 4 1

■

NINETY TEARS

himself, leaving her alone without a penny. I will
explain everything in my next essay, to be called “ The
Angel of the Riviera”.

I look back with pleasure to our Grand Tour, re¬
membering the enjoyment of my dear sister in our
travels. Suffice it to say that we spent six months in
Europe, visiting the cities made famous by the magic
brush, or chisel, of the Old Masters, and finished up our
tour in England. We sailed from here April 15th, 1881,
on the S. S. Malta, of the Cunard Line.

The skylark was singing, in England, as our steamer
swung out of the Mersey bound for Boston. The
Batavia had lost a propeller and was at Bermuda, and
we were sorry to miss our good Captain Moorland. Our
steamer docked at East Boston, and I found myself
looking furtively up the wharf where six months before
I had seen a girl rush through a crowd, waving her
shawl. I thought of the mare Black Bess, always looking
in the corner with suspicion where I threw the trap
after getting it free of the dear creature’s nose. Of course
there was no one in sight, — not a girl in Massachusetts
knew that I was arriving that day!

We found Cedric at the Parker House. He was
looking splendid, and told us at once that he was
engaged to be married. The thought came over me like a
breaking wave, that with all the girls I had loved not
one would have me; yet Cedric was accepted by the
very first girl to whom he proposed. But my brother was
different, tall, straight, and handsome. Why, that dear
fellow could wear a dress-suit with dignity and com¬
posure! Heavens! When I think of my agony every

142

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

time I wore my dress suit! The infernal fabrication
changed me from a fairly normal human being into
a miserable self-conscious wretch. It really seemed like
the fairy tale where the sorceress throws the enchanted
cloak over the prince’s shoulders and at once he changes
into a hamadryad.

Here is a strange study in psychology. As an illus¬
tration, I remember our last evening in Paris. Sister
had expressed a wish to attend the Grand Opera, as
Melba was to sing. This meant, that I must wear my
infernal dress-suit. I tried to be normal as we found our
seats in the magnificent Opera House, the pride of the
City of Paris. Shall I ever forget my anguish in that
splendid gathering of the elite! At my left were two
exquisitely attired damsels who never seemed to take
their eyes off my flushed face. I truly think that if I had
been in my pajamas I would have shown more in¬
souciance! Surreptitiously watching these girls, I
thought I saw a look of compassion in the face of the
younger who was next to me. Quietly I reached for her
hand and felt her reassuring clasp. Instantly I was
myself again. “Chere Ami.” “Oui, mon Cher.” “Dieu
vous garde, ma Chere.” It was like ships that pass in the
night!

The moment I was back at the Hotel Normandie, I
tore off my dress suit and taking a letter out of the coat,
I put it under my pillow; then I rolled the garments up
in a tight bundle, securing it with a long shoe-string 1
found in my valise. I felt a bit nervous as I waited till
the clock on the Cathedral of St. Germain struck two.
Then I cautiously approached the open window with

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NINETY TEARS

the bundle and looked on the dimly-lighted boulevard.
Hearing no movement below, I hurled the demoraliz¬
ing fabrication with all my might and vengeance far
into the night, and felt a glow of ecstasy as I heard the
bundle strike the pavement fifty feet below with a dull
sickening thud!

We were on our way from Calais to Dover the next
day before it came to me that I had left Emily’s letter
under my pillow at the Hotel Normandie, — even at
that moment the femme de chambre might be reading and
grasping the secret of— But I am anticipating.— I
sprang for the ship’s rail, but turned to find my dear
sister’s arms around me and went quietly back to my
chair beside her. Mr. Yardley had said that Mrs.
Thaxter was the most sensible woman he had ever met,
and I found it a great relief to tell her all my troubles.
She comforted me by saying: “Now, Oscar, you know
all the trouble you ever had came to you through girls.
Shape your course accordingly.”

O, what a delight to be in Boston again! The moment
we found time, we rushed to the olhce of Mr. Ingersoll
Bowditch at the Merchant’s Bank Building, on State
Street, to thank the fine old gentleman for his great and
continued kindness. I was glad to tell him that we had
completed our trip without using any of the money he
had so generously added to our Letter of Credit.
Looking back almost filly years, I remember with a
feeling of reverence the benevolence, integrity and
splendid achievements of the Bowditch family. They
left a name honored in Massachusetts and wherever
known.

144

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

It was the twentieth of April, and I was anxious to
get back to the Islands, where sister promised to join
me the first of May. Leaving Cedric with his beloved, I
took a morning train for Portsmouth and found the
Pinafore tied up at our wharf. I hunted up young
Oliver Adams, who acted as engineer, and we soon had
steam on our ship. Charlie Garrett came down with a

Miss Underhill’s Chair, Star Island

wagon load of provisions I had bought, and we started
down river. Oliver said the wind had been fresh to the
eastward and it might be rough outside. As we rounded
Fort Point, I saw the sea breaking over Kitts Rock, but
it seemed fairly smooth off shore. I could make out the
dim outline of the islands far off in the southeast. Before
we got outside of Whalesback Light, I put up the sail
with a reef in it to steady the boat, as we had the wind
abeam. It was beautiful the way she behaved in the

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NINETY TEARS

rough water. When we were half way across, a big sea
struck her on the weather bow, sending barrels of water
over our brave little ship, but she shook it off and sped
onward, and 1 kept a sharp lookout to windward,
luffing up to meet the heavy seas. 1 loved my boat as if
she were a live sentient being trying to help me. I
thought of that dear compassionate girl at the Opera
House in Paris, clasping my hand to save me from a
more terrible situation than ever could overtake a poor
voyager on the tumbling waters of the raging Atlantic
Ocean.

At last the Pinafore sped out of the breakers into calm
water under the lee of Appledore. The tide, being high,
we ran to the wharf in the upper dock and made fast.
1 was glad to see Edwin running down to meet us, and
his wife Lucy waving her apron on the hotel piazza.
She screamed, “Did you bring any potatoes?” “Yes,
more than a barrel”, I replied. Edwin and Lucy had
been with us since they were children, always loyal and
faithful. We were very fond of them, for they seemed
like our own family. It was fortunate that I thought of
bringing a lot of provisions, for they were running short.
Lucy said that they had not a potato in the house. My
mother had taught Lucy and she was a brst-rate cook.
She had plenty of fresh fish and gave us some broiled
haddock for supper. Gee, but it was good! They had
not heard a word of Cedric’s engagement, and were
greatly excited about everything that had happened to
us. Sister was expected down in ten days, and Lucy
said she would go right to work getting the Thaxter
Cottage ready to receive her.

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THE ISLES OE SLIOALS

Sister had told me to try to enlarge her flower garden.
I found that this could be done by extending the fence
twenty-five feet to the west, and, with Edwin, soon
made the enclosure a third larger. Sister’s great delight
in her flower garden was remarkable, and she would
not step on a flower to save her life. I have heard her
talk to a group of splendid hollyhocks as though they
were alive and could understand her conversation. 'The
Thaxter garden at Appledore was known far and wide,
many people coming to the islands just to see it. There
was something in the sea air that gave the blossoms
deeper colors. Sister had every kind of old-fashioned
flower, and a great variety of poppies, the Shirley being
a great favorite, and they were very beautiful, showing
every exquisite shade from the faintest blush of pink to a
glowing red. Sister’s book, ‘"An Island Garden”, gives
some idea of what can be done with flowers on a desert
island far at sea.

The first of May, Oliver and I went to Portsmouth for
my sister. Edwin had dug her garden, and Eucy had
the Thaxter Cottage in fine shape. Sister arrived at
Portsmouth on the morning train from Boston, bringing
Mina Bernsten with her. I was glad indeed to see the
dear Norwegian girl my mother had been so fond of.
I hunted up Charlie Todd, who was to start work on our
vegetable garden, and all aboard, we steamed down
river. The day was beautiful, with a gentle breeze to the
westward. The water sparkled in the sweet May sun¬
shine and seemed to caress the Pinafore as she glided
through the ripples. The charm of the delicious environ¬
ment made me almost forget my poor Emily, three

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NINETY TEARS

thousand miles away. But after fifty years, she is still in
my thoughts. If I ever get around to my next volume,
“The Angel of the Rivera”, the mystery about Emily
will be divulged. Lucy had a wonderful dinner ready on
our arrival, and it filled my heart with joy to see my
sister’s happiness in getting home to Appledore and her
beloved garden.

Appledore was putting on a dress-suit of tender green,
and wild flowers were blooming in the sheltered places.
Our little friends, the sandpipers and song sparrows,
were planning their nests. Oh, May was beautiful at our
island. Great flocks of gulls and wild fowl filled the air
and the delightful call of the loon was heard off shore,
where the ocean rippled in the sun.

We were all busy getting the big hotel ready for the
coming season. Our cousin Rymcs was rushing work on
The Oceanic at Star Island, and there seemed no end
to the preparations for the coming campaign. At the end
of May sister was in a whirlwind of delight at the
splendid showing in her garden, some of the plants
being already in bloom. Our little world seemed full of
promise.

Cedric had written for the Pinafore to meet him on
the first of June,— he was bringing his girl to see our
beautiful islands. Oliver and I ran in to Portsmouth the
next morning for Cedric. Lucy needed someone to help
her with the increasing work, and Oliver induced his
sister Ella to come with us. Cedric and his young lady
arrived by the morning train from Boston, and we were
back to Appledore in time for the fine dinner Lucy had
ready. There was pandowdy with whipped cream.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Cedric’s fiancee seemed very much interested and
charmed with our island. I declare it was beautiful to
see my brother’s devotion and his pride in his beloved.
They felt that they would need a private cottage, and
we all selected a location west of sister’s, with a fine out¬
look. Work on the foundation was begun at once, and
the building completed the same season. Sister found
that Julia Stowell (Cedric’s fiancee) was fond of flowers
and made her welcome at the Thaxter Cottage. My
brother’s cottage is still standing, the only one left on
the north part of Appledore. It made a delightful home
for him and his wife, Julia, for many years, also a home
for the three splendid daughters who finally came to
visit the dear fellow.

The day Cedric was to be married I started for
Portsmouth in the Pinafore. The wind was fresh to the
northeast, but I was anxious to attend the wedding in
Cambridge, Mass., and kept on. Before we got into the
river I was wet through with the flying spray, and my
wedding clothes were in a sad condition. I hunted up
my cousin Chris Rymes, who lent me some dry linen
and his tuxedo coat. I then just had time to catch the
train for Boston. Rymes was more of a man than ever I
was and the coat hung rather loose, the shirt collar just
clearing my ears; but there was no time to make any
change, and Chris and I reached Mrs. Stowell’s house
in Cambridge barely in time for the wedding. All day I
had it in mind that there might be bridesmaids on that
occasion. That proved to be the case, as there were
several. I remember one in particular named Annie,
with whom I sat on the entry stairs. She seemed to like

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NINETY TEARS

me, but whispered that she thought I looked funny. She
was right. I not only looked funny, but I felt funny also.
Cedric and Julia looked superb as they stood up to be
married. Mother Stowell gave me a seat next to Annie
at the wedding supper, and at times I almost forgot my
ill-fitting shirt collar and the slack of that infernal
tuxedo.

The seasons were rushing by. It was in 1884 that Mr.
Thaxter died. He was a man of rare personal charm,
and I always remember with gratitude his efforts to
teach me, and his many acts of kindness when we were
little. For several years he was the minister of Star
Island, making his home with his family in the old
parsonage, and my sister always said that those were the
happiest days of her married life. When the news of
Mr. Thaxter’s death reached Robert Browning, he
wrote this epitaph, which is cut on the gravestone at
Kittery Churchyard: —

“Thou whom these eyes saw never!

Say friends true,

Who say my soul, helped onward by my song,

Though all unwittingly, has helped thee, too?

I gave of but the little that I knew!

How were the gifts requited, while along

Life’s path I pace, could’st thou make weakness strong

Help me with knowledge — for Life’s Old —

Death’s new!”

Ten years later my dear sister passed away at her
cottage on Appledore. It was in August, when her
garden was a perfect cyclone of blossoms. Every kind of
beautiful flower was buried with her, and in her parlor
William Mason was playing Beethoven’s music that she

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Celia Thaxter

NINETY TEARS

loved so well. Annie Fields, Rose Lamb, Lucy Derby
and all my sister’s children were there. As I saw Celia
lying there, the thought came to me that surely anyone
so gifted and beloved could not be lost forever. Dr.
William Warren, Childe H assam, J. Appleton Brown,
Cedric and I carried her to the quiet grave with father
and mother on Appleclore.

Our family was drifting away to the Great Unknown.
The fortunes of the Laighton family seemed to be
waning after we lost our sister. Though all looked dark
to windward, we still tried, with smiling faces, to greet
our old friends coming back to enjoy the health-giving
air of the islands. Among the many charming people I
recall with most pleasure were the family of J. Walter
Wood, of South Orange, New Jersey . There were sev¬
eral children. The beautiful mother seemed so much
like the dear one we had lost that I became very fond of
her, and ever called her Mamma Wood. Her daughters,
Mrs. Hoskier, Mrs. Struthers and Mrs. Martin, were
later bringing their own children to Appledore. Mr. and
Mrs. Hoskier were angels of mercy in the World War;
Mr. Hoskier with the Ambulance Corps at the front,
and Mrs. Hoskier in hospital work in France, devoting
their time and money to the sick and wounded. One of
their sons, who was a flying ace, was shot down and
killed by the Germans.

Mrs. Martin’s children were my delight. It filled me
with happiness to hold little Sabina’s hand and teach
her to walk on the long office counter. The two boys,
Franklin and Jack Martin, were promising young
gentlemen. When Franklin was about ten, he became

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Admiral of the Fleet in the bathing pond, showing
remarkable ability, especially when there happened to
be any friction between the two contending parties.

Charlie Clark, whose father owned a cottage at
Appledore, was ever trying to depose the admiral, but
he was no match for young Martin on the water. One
day I was at my desk in the office and heard a shout
that there was a naval battle on the pond. I rushed out
on the piazza and immediately took in the situation.
Charlie Clark had secured four of the seven pond boats,
leaving Franklin only three, but I noticed that the
admiral was working his ships to windward. Suddenly,
squaring away before the fresh westerly wind, he came
down with free sheets on the opposing fleet like a
thunderbolt, forcing them ashore and taking Charlie
Clark prisoner. Charlie was a couple of years older than
Franklin, and president of the boys’ club called the
Appledore Invincibles. Charlie casually approached
Franklin one day, soon after the battle on the pond,
with the offer to let him join the club, if he cared to,
saying that it was “more fun than a goat”. Franklin had
always wished to be a member of that select association,
and said at once that he would like to join. Charlie told
him to come around to their clubhouse, which was one
of the dressing rooms of the theatre. Charlie said: “Be
there at eight this evening. The watchword is ‘Golden
Apple’.” Franklin was on hand promptly, and, giving
the watchword, was let in by the Grand Usher, Billy
Sheafe. There were half a dozen members present, who
greeted Franklin with great courtesy. The president
explained to the new recruit that in the Masonic

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NINETY TEARS

associations it was the custom for a new member to ride
a goat, or something; but in their club the ceremony was
simple; that all the new member was required to do
was to sit quietly in the chair which the president
brought forward, and cross his wrists and feet and have
them tied, — and then not to speak a word. Franklin did
not quite understand all of this, but knew, of course,
that there was always some secret form of initiation in
every club, and consented to the condition. He was
securely tied, as the rules required, and the president
slacked the halyards on the recruit’s pants, and im¬
mediately commenced to give him the darndest spank¬
ing he ever received. All the other members not only
voiced their whole-hearted approbation, but helped
along the good work and urged their beloved president
to renewed exertion. The new member’s fearful yells
at last brought his mother, and Miss Loring, and Perry
Moore (the watchman) to the rescue, when Franklin
was released and the afterpart of his garment properly
adjusted. Miss Loring said that she should go at once
and report to Charlie Clark’s father, but Franklin
objected to this, saying, “It is not the custom of this
club, of which I now have the honor to be a member, to
squeal, at least not after initiation, and it is my wish
that no secrets of the club be divulged. Let the incident
be closed.” This manly attitude instantly won the
appreciation of the president and all the members, who
crowded about him and shook his hand, and with one
voice proclaimed him Grand Mogul of the Invincibles!
They then all walked off together to seek new fields of
glorious adventure.

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

Mrs. Wood had noticed my interest in astronomy,
and one evening when we were looking at the stars she
asked me if I would like to have a good telescope. 1 told
her it was something I had always wished for. Imme¬
diately she headed a subscription with a hundred
dollars, Mrs. Hoskier, Mrs. Martin and other guests
joined in, and in a short time five hundred dollars were
secured, and a splendid astronomical telescope was
purchased and I was nearly crazy with delight. This
telescope was made by the famous Alvan Clark, fitted
with equatorial movement, sight finder and several eye
pieces of different powers, and was so large that I had to
build an observatory, which led off the piazza; the
heavy equatorial being bolted to a column that could
be moved up and down by rachet wheel for people of
different heights. It was a complete success and greatly
appreciated. It was astonishing how many people had
never seen the moons of Jupiter or the rings of
Saturn, and they would wonder at the apparent speed
of a star across the field of the glass, saying,—' ‘‘How
fast that star is moving!” It was difficult to make
them understand that it was the telescope that was
moving with the revolution of the earth, and not
the object.

Fifty years has not dimmed the joy I felt in trying to
teach the young ladies of the hotel my modest knowl¬
edge of the starlight night. O, with what delight I
would watch the perfectly entrancing funny face a girl
makes when looking through a telescope. Such de¬
licious screams when they thought they had discovered
the man in the moon. They would jump around so that I

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NINETY YEARS

would have to hold them gently, as the least jar would
dim the definition of the object in the glass.

Shall I ever forget that moonlight evening in the
observatory with Edith? It is a well known law of
gravitation that the attraction of a body diminishes
with the increase of distance inversely as the square of
the distance. The moon, two hundred and forty
thousand miles away, could barely lift the whole
Atlantic Ocean ten feet, while I was taken completely
off my feet by the attraction so near at hand. Edith was
saying, “O, Mr. Laighton, do you really think there is a
lovely lady in the moon?” “Possibly, dearest, but never
could she be as sweet as thou art.” O, she was so near
and the moon so far away! Even at that sublime mo¬
ment, I was wondering if there ever was, or ever could
be, a nature so cold as to be able to resist the soft velvet
damask of her cheek; possibly Epictetus might, or Dean
Swift, but I certainly could not! As I stood absorbed on
the starboard side of my pupil, I heard chuckling
noises behind me, and turning, found Childe Hassam
close at hand with a lady on his arm. They both
seemed to be in excellent spirits. Mr. Hassam said, when
he could command his voice, that his companion would
like to have a look at the moon before it sank too low in
the west. As Miss Bigelow took her place at the glass,
Hassam commenced to explain about the moon, using
technicalities which I always avoided in first lessons to
girls, and I was delighted to hear the lady say, “O, Mr.
Hassam, I wish you would lecture like Mr. Laighton!”

After we lost our sister there was a change in the
fortunes of Appledore. Her beautiful garden and the

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Cedric Laighton

NINETY TEARS

attraction of her parlour were greatly missed. Hun¬
dreds of summer hotels were springing up on the Maine
and New Hampshire coasts, and the railroads to York
Beach and Hampton were taking the transient business
our steamer used to get. Our big hotels were barely
paying their expenses. The insurance on the Appledore
and Oceanic property amounted to three thousand
dollars a year; then the interest on our indebtedness to
the bank called for four thousand more. It seemed
impossible to stem the advancing storm.

In 1899 my brother died. That wras the greatest blow
of all, as we had always been together and depended on
each other. I was about ready to give up the ship, but
struggled on, ever hoping for better seasons, and that I
might be able to save something for Cedric’s children,
Ruth, Margaret and Barbara, who were growing up
fine girls and a great comfort to me.

Sister’s children were Karl, John and Roland Thax-
ter. John and Roland were married; Karl had died.
John was living on his estate on the Maine coast, and
Roland was a professor at Harvard College, and a close
friend of President Eliot.

Most of our friends of the olden days had passed away
since the Appledore House first opened in 1848. After
1900, automobiles began to be in evidence, which still
further added to our misfortunes. A young man,
named Harry G. Marvin, of unusual ability, who had
been with us many years, was managing the Oceanic
for me, while I remained in charge of Appledore. One
day Harry came over to see me about a proposition one
of his guests at Star Island had made. The gentleman’s

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

name was Thomas Elliott, and he and his wife were
staying at the Oceanic. Mr. Elliott was so delighted
with the islands that he proposed to bring a party of
Unitarians down another season, if satisfactory ar¬
rangements could be made. Harry told me on what

The Old Church on Star Island

terms they would come, and I saw that he was excited.
I told him that we must act with caution. “What is a
Unitarian? Are they good people? It won’t do to intro¬
duce any rough element”, I replied. Harry said that he
did not know just exactly what a Unitarian was, but,
judging from the Elliotts, he would say that they were

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NINETY TEARS

very nice, harmless people. Mr. Elliott promised to
“fill the Oceanic to the ridge-pole”, he said. Everything
seemed satisfactory, so I told Harry to go ahead and
welcome the Unitarians to Star Island. The next season,
to my astonishment, Mr. Elliott arrived with hundreds
of Unitarians, filling the Oceanic and overflowing to
Appledore. They have been coming every year since,
over thirty years, I think. They were so much interested
in the old stone church that, with the consent of my
brother’s wife, I gave it to them. This church was built
in the year 1800, to replace one of wood, which the
Islanders had cut up to keep the pot boiling when they
were short of firewood, and the present church was
built of stone to prevent a recurrence of this devasta¬
tion. The tower was then of wood and was blown down
in 1892. I immediately built the stone tower now stand¬
ing. Possession of the church by the Unitarians led to
the wish of securing the whole property, and, to my
great delight, they finally bought Star Island and all the
Oceanic property.

Before (he Revolution, Star Island contained the old
town of Gosport, which had many inhabitants, all
fishermen. There was a fort on the rising ground to the
west which was equipped with a block-house and nine
brass cannons to protect them from the Indians, who
sometimes came across from Rye in their canoes. I
have often heard a story of a widow, named Betty
Moody, who lived with her three small children near
the Cove at Star Island. Her husband had left her the
house, a good sized fish shed, a cow and a few hens. It
was said that Betty would cut grass enough with a case

160

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

knife to furnish hay for wintering the cow, which hay
she stored in the fish shed. Sometime before George
Washington was born, there was a tribe of Indians
camped on Breakfast Hill, in Rye, N. H. These Indians,
looking across towards the Isles of Shoals one still
morning in September, decided to make a raid on the
islands. Launching their canoes at Wallis Sands, they
sped out to the Shoals, eight miles away. They were
seen by the islanders, who rushed for safety into the
fort, — all but Betty, who was delayed in hunting up her
children. The Indians were landing in the Gove, and
Betty, seeing that she could not reach the fort, hid with
her children in a cave on the other side of the island.
While the Indians were hunting for her near at hand,
Betty’s youngest child began to cry, and poor Betty
held her hand over the child’s mouth so long that it was
smothered before she realized her terrible misfortune.
The Islanders commenced to lire on the Indians with
their cannon, and the savages were finally driven off.
Betty Moody’s Cave can still be seen on Star Island. If
you will visit us this summer I shall be very proud to
show it to you.

About a mile west by north of Star is a beautiful
island called Londoners, or Honeymoon Island. I had
owned this island for many years and my cottage there
is still standing, although my big fish house near the
landing was destroyed by hre some years ago. The
island is moon-shaped, with a curved beach, making a
fine harbor, where I had done considerable work to
improve the landing-place by building a long inclined
slip from low water mark to the boathouse, making it

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NINETY TEARS

easy to haul a boat up by a windlass in the house. I
kept this cottage furnished and ready to start house¬
keeping, as I planned to make it my home when I gave
up the hotels, but the island remained unoccupied for
many years, excepting when several couples spent their
honeymoons there. The view of the other islands of the
group from Londoners is enchanting; Appledore lies
to the northeast, with Smuttynose, Malaga and Cedar
due east. Star Island is a mile off east by south, with
White Island a mile distant to the south. I tacked up in
the kitchen of this house at Londoners Island this
notice:

“Welcome to anyone entering this house in ship¬
wreck or trouble. Start a fire in the stove and make
yourself comfortable. There is wood and coal in the
shed. You will find matches in the box on the kitchen
mantle and food in the cans in the pantry. Beds are
made up in the chambers. Help wall reach you from
the other Islands the moment it is possible.”

Several times the little cottage proved a most welcome
haven of safety for fishermen in trouble. Once a brig
was wrecked on the island in a fearful storm and all
hands lost, except the mate, who managed to get
ashore. He made himself comfortable in my cottage
until the sea went down so we could reach him. I have
heard that sermons have been preached about my
notice in the little cottage at Londoners.

Appledore Island had been surveyed and laid out in
building lots of several thousand feet each, with the
hope of selling to the people for summer homes. A
number of lots were disposed of, my cousin, Mrs.
Johnson, of Portsmouth, buying seven on the south side

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THE ISLES OF SHOALS

of the island near the shore and getting me to build a
large stone house for her. I had it finished in 1910; the
finest residence ever built at the Shoals.

The Appledore Hotel was being run by a syndicate at
ever increasing loss. I was out of the business entirely
and running my motor boat, taking parties to the
different islands. When my brother died I had thirty
thousand dollars in my own right and a good brick
house in Portsmouth; but in my effort to keep the
interest on our indebtness to the bank paid up, my
fortune melted away and the fine house in town had to
be sold. This was the De Normandie dwelling on State
Street, occupied by my brother’s family every winter
for many years.

Cedric’s children had grown up. Ruth was a teacher
of the violin in Boston; Margaret was travelling with
Mrs. Forbes, whose son Cameron was Governor
General of the Philippine Islands. I was astonished to
get a letter from Margaret saying that she had been
married at Manila to Edward Forbes, a brother of
Cameron. Barbara, the youngest daughter, had fin¬
ished her studies and was engaged to a schoolmate
named William Durant, and she wrote me “I am sure
you will like Billy. He is the best fellow in Massachu¬
setts.” That those blessed girls were so happily situated
was a great joy to me. When Margaret arrived home
she came to the Islands with her husband, and they
occupied the cottage on Londoners for the balance of
their honeymoon. Edward proved a friend indeed,
helping me out of a multitude of entanglements, and
securing the title to Smuttynose, Malaga and Duck

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NINETY TEARS

Islands. These he still owns. There is a fisherman’s
cottage on Duck Island, but it has been unoccupied for
many years and the gulls have come back in ever
increasing thousands. Duck Island lies about two miles
northeast of Appledore Island.

With my good friend George Warder, I was getting
my house and the landing at Londoners Island in good
order, planning to move over there; but my brother’s
children thought that I would be unwise to live there
alone at my advanced age. I had never dreamed that I
could live away from my beloved Islands, but Mar¬
garet secured a delightful place lor me in Portsmouth,
and I moved all my belongings to the Portsmouth
house, where 1 live a part of the year. In the summer I
am at Star Island with the good Unitarians, who have
always been kind to me, and for several winters I have
been with my friend Harry Marvin, who has a fine
winter hotel at Camden, S. C. He thinks that I am
helping him, but a fellow doesn’t amount to much
after he is ninety!

My comrade Edwin Caswell is gone, and a better
helpmate no man ever had. He was ever loyal and
interested in our fortunes at the Islands. Our splendid
cousin, Chris Rymes, had died. He was one of nature’s
noblemen. All my old friends were slipping away to the
vast Unknown. It seems astonishing that I am per¬
mitted to keep on deck. I do hope the dear Lord has not
forgotten me.

To my great delight, Captain Franklin Martin, of the
Appledore Invincibles, has bought Mrs. Johnson’s
splendid stone cottage on the south side of Appledore,

164

tl ' ' j<( •• . > ) i ..

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

with all her holdings in land and buildings. Every
summer he comes to the island with his wife and four
children, and seems my mainstay of the old-time
Shoalers.

During the first year of the World War, the Appledore
Hotel and seven cottages, including my sister’s, were
burned to the ground, and what my brother and I had
been all our lives building up was destroyed in an hour.
The hotel had been open to the public every year since
1848. I was living on Star Island, when I saw great
columns of smoke rising over Appledore. I rushed there
in my boat, hoping to save something from my sister’s
cottage, but had only time to get a few pictures out of
the parlour before all was lost in the flames.

Oliver’s sister, Ella Adams, is still with us. She de¬
veloped a remarkable gift of housekeeping, and has had
charge of that department at the Oceanic Hotel for
over thirty years, and is greatly esteemed by the Uni¬
tarian Association. During the winter she is house¬
keeper for Harry Marvin at his beautiful Inn at Cam¬
den, South Carolina.

It is gratifying to find that many of our boys in the
office at Appledore have made good in the hotel bus¬
iness. Harry Marvin owns and manages two large
hotels. J. Ben Hart has an international reputation in
the business. V. D. Harrington, so many seasons at
Appledore, owns a first-class hotel at Rye, and for the
past fifteen years has had charge of Star Island and the
management of the Oceanic Hotel for the Unitarians
and Congregationalists, winning their confidence and
esteem. For many summers the good Unitarians have

■

NINETY TEARS

made me welcome at Star Island, where I run my
motor-boat Twilight, taking people for trips among the
different islands of our Archipelago. At the end of the
season, at Star, I return to the house in Portsmouth,
where I stay until it is time to go south again.

The coming of the Unitarians to Star Island and the
purchase of the property will be handed down as one of

Yaciit Twii.ihiit

the most remarkable events in the history of our famous
group of Islands. The Association has made Star Island
the only one in all the world devoted entirely to re¬
ligious teaching. Their speakers are the most talented
in the land, preaching friendship, thoughtfulness of
others, and charity, which is the greatest of all. Their
Candle Light Service in the old stone church is some¬
thing beautiful. In all the world there is nothing to com¬
pare with this. I fear that I never had much religion,
but being with these good people fills me with a desire
to walk in their footsteps, feeling sure I could not go far
wrong.

0v/oi» b3biu.fl ;>d II . vmr; lq ill fostffi 'ttjq

THE ISLES OF SHOALS

In one of her poems, sister wrote: —

“The races of mankind the wide world o’er
Rise, strive and vanish and are seen no more.”

So, clinging to the hope that I may yet find my sister
and the dear ones who have sailed away on their long
voyage, I am still looking to the windward, though my
eyes are dim, ever keeping things shipshape below and
aloft, and my tattered sails trimmed to meet a favoring
breeze that may fan my derelict vessel onward to

THE END.

' V bh » obi 1 / bt-i> » "! •

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